Unforgettable
by Aussiegirl41
Summary: Where cable cars climb halfway to the stars... Laura and Bill's honeymoon isn't all smooth sailing. A multi-chapter Adamsverse story co-written by Bugsfic. Sequel to Unbreakable and Unstoppable.
1. Chapter 1

Bill glanced up from his book, his glasses balanced on the end of his nose. He lounged on the butter-yellow leather sofa by the window in the Adams' bedroom. Like a leaf caught in a whirlpool, a small knot of people swirled around the room, moving between open, huge steamer trunks, the dressing room and the vanity table.

Laura was in the lead, pointing at various things she wanted to bring on their honeymoon. Elosha snatched them up or rejected them, leading to squabbles. Emily took notes on her stenopad and offered her opinion. Tom brought up the rear, his deeper voice thundering over the women as he harangued Laura with last-minute business details.

Sensing danger for his long, fluffy tail, Jake slid under the couch.

Laura spotted a new target. "Bill! You cannot possibly be packed. We must leave in half an hour!"

He slowly closed his book around the bookmark. "I'm ready." He nodded toward his trusty old battered leather valise sitting by the door.

"That's all?" Laura cried. "We will be gone for three weeks to the tropics!"

"That's why you're packing all those furs?" he commented.

"We'll be in cooler climes for a few days each direction," she blustered, then, "don't try to change the subject."

Fear struck Bill's heart when her eyes turned to cold, grey steel. She announced, "Elosha, let's pack for Mr Adams as well," and her group marched into the dressing room.

He wasn't spry enough to be off the couch and beat them to the dressing room, now shared by all their clothing. Laura was already plucking at hanging garments, opening drawers, when he made it to the doorway.

"He'll need all his light suits, perhaps this seersucker-"

"Oh god, not that thing," he grumbled. "I look like the ice cream truck man in that!"

She ignored him. "These shoes, his Panama hat-"

Tom interrupted: "Mrs Adams, I must know what you want done about the Turner account-"

"Sell," Bill advised. "I've looked over that account, and it's going nowhere but down. Cut your losses."

The General Manager's jaw clenched. "Sell? But-"

"Sell all the shares, Tom," Laura said without even looking at him.

"As you say," Zarek muttered, giving Bill a venomous look.

Emily scratched the order on her pad.

Noting how distracted Laura was, Emily came beside her. "Mrs Adams, there's some checks to be signed before you go-" She produced a checking account ledger book from under her arm.

Laura scribbled her signature on the checks, balancing the ledger book on a cabinet but she was still giving orders, "Those linen shirts-."

Wetting her lips, Emily waited nervously as Laura worked her way through the pages. She released a relieved sigh when Laura finished without comment. "I'll send these out," she murmured, accepting the ledger and hurrying from the dressing room. Tom watched her go with narrowed eyes.

As Elosha stuffed Bill's clothing into what little room remained in the trunks, Laura paced the bedroom, giving it one more look-over. Bill was reminded of a field general surveying the battlefield. He swallowed any protests. Soon enough, they would be on his turf, a sailing ship, and he would start ordering her around!

Down in the office, Emily tore out the last signed check from the book and slipped it into her handbag with shaking fingers. She just wasn't made for this sort of duplicity...Finding her resolve, she picked up the phone and dialed a now familiar number.

"Yes, please connect me with Detective Laird." She twirled her pencil nervously. "Hello. It's me. Everything's set. I have the money." She looked to the doorway, expecting Tom Zarek at any moment. "I'll see you at the Shady Trees Motel at four o'clock-"

She heard footfall approaching. "I have to go," she said quickly and hung up.

Zarek entered the office. "You'll have your notes typed up and ready for my review in thirty minutes, Emily," he said sharply, yanking the phone off the handle to call Roslin Industries' stockbroker.

"Yes, sir," she murmured and sitting at her typewriter, quickly flipped through her stenopad to find the first page of notes.

~~AV~~

"Sesha! What in the world is going on?"

A woman with faded beauty and dead eyes, seated in a wheelchair, looked to her bedroom's doorway. Her husband stood with his hands on his hips. Waving her hand laggardly, she dismissed the team of maids packing her steamer trunks. The maids filed out quickly, closing the door behind the slight man.

"What is it, Aaron?" the woman said in her low, husky voice.

He pointed at the trunks. "This!"

"We're going on a cruise to Hawaii," his wife said. "Your man is packing your things now."

Aaron began to pace before her chair. Her gaze drifted to the window.

"I know he's packing! That's why I'm here-"

"You would not be visiting your wife to see how she is doing," Sesha said dryly.

"Why must you turn everything around to be a disagreement?" he whined.

"Because you are a disagreeable person, Aaron."

"Then why must I come on this cruise?" he asked, exasperated. He tried to soften his manner. "Darling, go on this holiday, enjoy yourself-"

"You're coming. You make an excellent prop-the devoted husband." She chuckled to herself.

He scooted a footstool over to sit before her. He attempted to take her hand, but she folded them in her lap.

"Please, Sesha. Don't be like this. Can't you see what a bitter old woman you're becoming?"

Sesha finally devoted her full attention to her insipid husband. " _Old_ woman," she drawled. "That was such a great attraction when I noticed you in my stables, Aaron-your youth. What a disappointment it all proved to be."

He tried to intercede. "We had such good times before-"

She ignored him. "It's so sad, darling," she snarled the endearment until it sounded like an obscenity. "You no longer have that benefit of youth, do you? Imagine what you'd be without me. Aaron Doral with no money, no connections, no fast cars or dapper attire. You think anyone would look twice at an aging stable hand?"

He tried to calm her. As much as he loathed her flat, unemotional manner, this was worse. "Dearest, let me fetch your nurse. You need some medication-"

"Joan is no longer with us," Sesha said, her voice toneless again.

"But I just saw her at breakfast," Aaron said, confused.

"She has given her resignation for some reason."

"Who will attend you on this cruise..." he queried.. "Surely you don't expect me?" He couldn't hide his revulsion.

"And why shouldn't you?" she asked through shaking, white lips. "You put me in this thing!" She banged her hands down on the wheelchair's arms.

Taking a deep breath, she leveled her tone again. "And now you have to pay," she told him clearly.

"Sesha, you're being ridiculous. There was no way I could have known that horse-"

She turned to stare back out the window at the lush green fields of her private estate before he could give his feeble explanations for her accident again. She'd heard them all before.

"I'm so tired of this," he said, his voice cracking. "You belittle me, the accusations-"

"They're only accusations because I can't prove you tried to kill me," she said. "But for the next time, my lawyers know to cut you off..." She glanced below the waistband of his pants. "-and make certain you are properly disposed of in the electric chair." Her smile was real for once, and a frightening thing.

"I could have left you after the accident-" His smooth features contorted into a cruel mask. "You wanted a dutiful husband by your wheelchair's side-" He looked the heavy chair over with contempt. "And damn you, I've lived up to my side of the bargain!"

"But then you would have had to leave all this money, Aaron," she reminded him.

She looked out the window again. Today would have been perfect weather to take a long ride. Instead, the closest she could get to exhilaration was provoking her weakling second husband. How could she have ever thought Aaron was worthy enough to take her dear Ray's place? And he thought she didn't know he'd found replacements for her useless body?

"You needn't worry about addressing my needs on this cruise. I called the Delphi Clinic..." Her mouth became a thin line. "Where I hoped yet again for a cure. There was a nurse there who seemed suitable. She shall be joining us this afternoon."

He sighed in relief.

There was a low knock on the door. "What is it!?" Doral yelled.

"Aaron," said his wife, "don't be so common."

He stormed to the door and yanked it open. "Oh!" he said. "Sorry."

A young woman, dressed in the white, utilitarian uniform of a nurse, her dull brown hair pulled back in a bun at the base of her neck, stood outside. Her blushing face was downcast as she stared at the square toes of her thick-soled white shoes. "Excuse me," she said with a thin voice, "but the butler said I should come up..."

"Ah yes, Nurse Schaffer," said Sesha. "Are you ready to leave?"

"Leave, Mrs Doral?" Nurse Schaffer asked, confused. "I just got here."

"We're going on a Hawaiian cruise," Aaron said, forcing on another smile.

"My goodness," the nurse breathed.

"I don't know if we met at the clinic, but I am Mr Doral," Aaron said, when it was obvious no introduction was forthcoming.

The nurse did not offer her hand, only nodded while continuing to focus on the floor.

Doral gave his wife a scathing look and she smiled thinly in response.

"Aaron, I must complete my packing. Please ask the maids to return," Sesha said, dismissing him like he was a servant as well.

"Of course, my dear," he ground out. "Why don't I see about finding Nurse Schaffer some refreshment."

Sesha didn't reply, but returned to looking out the window.

Closing the bedroom door behind them, Aaron led the nurse down the dim hallway. "I realize this must be a great surprise, but the cruise will be delightful," he said, but his tone was depressed.

Nurse Schaffer voice was much gayer. "I think we'll have a wonderful time."

Suddenly, she pushed Doral into an alcove containing a potted palm tree. He gasped in shock, but she covered his mouth with hers, kissing him deeply. He finally struggled loose.

"Dammit, Paulla," he hissed, "we cannot do this in the house!"

"Then we shall do it on that ship, while that bitch is trapped in her bed," chortled the young woman.

He cradled her cheek, looking at her with wonder. "How did you convince her to hire you?"

"I sent her notes, asking how she was doing after she left the clinic. Flattering her-I had to see you again! These three months apart have been torture!"

He smiled and she grinned in return. "Yes, we shall be together," he mused.

"You better get those maids for her. I'll find the kitchen myself," she ordered him. "Let's get this show on the road."

Straightening her white cap and pushing her hairpins back in place, she shuffled away with the demure gait of a dutiful servant.

Doral disentangled himself from the plant then straightened his tie. He allowed himself a confident smirk before hurrying off to do his wife's bidding.

~~AV~~

Emily slipped on her coat and checked the room's clock. She was behind schedule, but hopefully he would wait for her-

"Good, Emily, you're ready to go," Laura said from behind her.

"Ready?" Confused, Emily finished putting on her hat.

Laura nodded toward her alligator leather travel case. "Tom took up so much of my time, I didn't tell you about everything I want done with my charity work while I'm gone. You'll have to come with us to the ship."

"Come with you to the ship?"

Laura didn't see her check the clock again. "Of course!" Her employer said gaily. "You'll have fun! There'll be cocktails, hors d'oeuvres-"

Emily lifted the heavy case as she hid her frustration. "Of course, Mrs Adams."

In the foyer, they joined Bill. He gathered his wife to his side. "Young Jaffee's got all those trunks loaded into a moving truck-"

Laura slapped his chest lightly. "Darling, don't be silly!"

Bill grinned at her and couldn't resist sneaking a quick kiss before protesting: "He did have to hire a truck for all those trunks! And he's ready to drive us to the boat. Just needs to know which car to take-"

"Let's see, Emily has to come, Elosha wants to unpack-" Laura smiled at her maid. "She doesn't trust me with my unmentionables-"

"I can take care of those," insisted Bill. "I'm getting real good-"

Elosha snorted, her sad expression lightening for a brief moment. Laura just rolled her eyes. "And we have to pick up the Franklins; their automobile is in the shop-"

"Make it the Rolls," Bill said, resigned, herding the group toward the door to the garage.

Tom watched through the office windows as the large black automobile pulled out the garage and turned down the hill. He moved back to the telephone.

"Meier? It's me. What's the latest?" A smile spread across his face for the first time that afternoon. He chuckled deeply. "Excellent news. By the time Mrs Adams returns, everything will be in place."


	2. Chapter 2

Bill had always enjoyed the last few hours before his ship sailed. He'd check through his manifest, review his crew one last time, and turn the page in his log to a fresh, clean piece of paper. And always sniffing the wind, checking for storms on the horizon.

He couldn't smell the weather in the SS Monterey's best stateroom. The air was filled with the scent of orchids and lilies from the huge arrangements on every table. And he couldn't think with the chatter of the bon voyage cocktail party in full swing. After three months of marriage, the Adams had acquired a small circle of friends, cobbled together from her crowd who'd actually welcomed her new husband, and his acquaintances from boxing gyms, dark jazz bars, and bookstores.

The writer, Hugh O'Mallory, was slumped in a white velvet chair puffing on a cigar. His wife, Lydia, propped herself on the chair arm, the wide mouth on her long face flapping at Cora Smythe-Boyles, a very haughty fashion designer with a wicked sense of humor hidden well behind her porcelain-doll face.

Bill shimmied between them and the chattering Hank Mercers, of the Piedmont Mercers, trying to make his way toward Laura. She was trapped on the far side of the room, cornered by the leering boxing promoter, Tex Simmons. The little man's stature meant he could gaze into the revealing decolletage of Laura's cocktail dress easily.

Before Bill could get across the room, the nightclub singer, Fanny Bradford, cleared her throat richly, tossed back her mass of blonde curls and began singing a silly ditty about dancing under swaying coconut palms.

With the crush in her way, Elosha was attempting to unpack Laura's four steamer trunks without much success. She kept glancing at the closed door to the small maid's quarters off the lounge. Elosha would be staying behind for the first time in Laura's life and she was not taking it well.

Bill ignored the anguished look she gave him as he went past.

Hattie Schmuler, one of Laura's strongest allies in her social work, and the woman's escort, Terrance Green, were attempting a very poor hula dance, blocking Bill's way again. He found himself wedged against the wall with Emily. She was checking through the passenger list.

"What are you doing?" He peered over her shoulder at her neat notes.

"Just letting Mrs Adams know which passengers are friends, acquaintances or business associates and those to be avoided," the secretary said.

Bill could only shake his head.

"Laura!" Emily burst out, then recovered. "Mrs Adams!"

Going up on her tiptoes to look at her secretary over the heads of the undulating dancers, Laura called back, "What is it?"

"It's Sesha Abinell, that is, she's now Sesha Doral," said Emily. "She's on this sailing with her new husband."

Laura finally pushed her way through the crush to join them. "Oh goodness, I haven't seen her in at least two years."

Both women's faces became sad.

"She writes and calls," said Laura, "but doesn't come to the City anymore, or even allow me to visit her in Atherton. The latest I heard from her was a short note after our wedding announcement."

She slipped her arm through Bill's. "This is an old college chum of ours," she explained. "She was so full of life, the leader of our little group, but about five years ago, she lost her beloved first husband; they were such a lovely couple." Laura's face subtly changed. "Then she seemed to find happiness again-her horse trainer-but shortly after they married, she suffered a terrible fall from her new mount. She's never walked again."

"Since then, she's removed herself from society," added Emily. "Which I suppose is to be expected considering the circumstances. She was such a lively person, a great sportswoman-"

Laura raised her chin. "Well, if she's come on this holiday, surely she expects to mingle. Emily, please write up a note and have it delivered to her stateroom."

"Yes, Mrs Adams." Emily opened Laura's travel case and removed a sheet of her heavy notepaper, monogrammed in silver with her new initials. The secretary wrote a few neat lines and handed it to Laura for her signature.

"I'll have a steward deliver it immediately," Emily said. "Perhaps she can join you for the Aloha dinner tonight."

Bill was reminded of this ridiculous dog and pony show he was about to undertake for the next four days to Hawaii; a crew with shiny brass buttons and epaulets on snow-white uniforms, potato sack races on the upper deck, musical chairs in the Grand Lounge-good god!

Then he looked at Laura's smiling face and forced on his own smile. "Can't wait," he said.

Laura's nose crinkled impishly and she gave him a quick kiss. "Our honeymoon at last!" she enthused.

His pasted smile became a full grin. That's right. They were on their honeymoon! Nothing said they had to even leave this posh room-

"Miss Laura," interjected Elosha. "I need to explain how to these silks _must_ be washed..."

Bill sighed in exasperation. Laura took a deep breath. The ship's horn blew.

"That's your warning," Bill announced loudly above Franny's singing. "Twenty minutes to disembark or the next stop is Oahu!"

"Twenty minutes; plenty of time to sort through a few more details," said the maid maddeningly.

Staring Elosha down, Bill plucked one of Laura's gowns from her hands. "It's only three weeks, not forever."

She moved to fiddle with the lock on the last trunk. "I suppose that's everything," she said tragically.

Laura gave Bill a look saying, _can you believe this?_ He gave her a look back, _what did you expect?_

Putting aside the dress, he went to help the maid. "Let me get that for you, Elosha."

Lowering his voice, he told her, "Take a vacation of your own, Ma'am."

"Vacation?" She looked confused.

"Yes. Charge anything to Mrs Adams and go have a good time."

Still looking perplexed, Elosha gathered her richly colored robes close and followed the chattering crowd making their way out the doorway. Laura stopped her and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. "Wait for Emily. Jaffee will take the two of you back to the house."

"Anything else?" Emily asked Laura after closing her employer's travel case.

"No, thank you, Emily," said Laura. "I can manage from here on out."

"Of course." Emily flipped her notepad closed and tucked it into her handbag. "I'll hold the fort down while you're gone."

Laura grinned. "I trust you completely."

Lowering her head, the secretary hurried to do join the others.

Elosha looked around the stateroom one more time, then shrugged and followed the last visitors out, closing the door behind her.

"Alone at last," said Bill, embracing Laura.

Then he heard a whine from the closed door of the maid's room. Laura stepped away and opened the door. Jake rushed out, wiggling with happiness.

Laura bent down to rub the dog's head. "One of our little family got to come along!"

"He keeps his mouth shut and doesn't bust in when we make love," said Bill, fetching Laura's silver fox coat from the closet.

"I think we scare him when we do that," mused Laura, accepting the coat on her shoulders.

Bill started to protest, then closed his mouth. "I can't believe you brought that heavy coat on a tropical vacation," he said, still grousing on that point. He slipped into his trenchcoat and Fedora hat.

"Because it's going to be incredibly cold out on the bow of the ship." Bill had already told her they must be up front when the vessel sailed through the Golden Gate. "We could watch from our veranda-"

"No fun in that," insisted Bill, clipping the leash to Jake's collar. "Gotta feel the sea spray on your face."

She shuddered behind his back, but then smiled brightly when he stood upright.

Arm in arm, they strolled out to the deck. The excited passengers had gathered at the railing, cheering and waving to the dock below.

Jake pinned his ears back at the commotion, slinking in between Bill and Laura's legs for safety.

Bill found them a spot against the railing that offered a clear view to the dock. Laura waved madly when she recognized Elosha's flowing caftan amongst the well-wishers bidding farewell to their friends and relatives.

Stewards came along offering buckets of confetti and handfuls of streamers. Bill stopped one young man and secured some for them. "Here," he said, filling her gloved hands with colorful chips of paper.

"Mr Adams," she said, bumping her shoulder against his, "I thought you regarded this type of thing as a folly of the rich and foolish."

He grinned and hurling a streamer roll in a high arc. It unfurled perfectly, drifting down on those gathered below. "I like to indulge my wife," he called over the cheering and shouting of the crowd.

Laughing merrily, Laura tossed her own roll of colorful paper ribbon over the edge of the railing, watching as it fluttered and twisted together with the many others her fellow passengers had thrown.

~~AV~~

"Why aren't we in the presidential suite?" Aaron demanded to know as they arrived in their well-appointed stateroom. He peered into the bedroom. "Why do we only have single beds? I thought this ship was first class." He scowled at the steward.

"This room was especially outfitted with more compact furniture to allow for Mrs Doral's wheelchair," the young crewman explained.

"Typical," Aaron grumbled under his breath. Like he needed any reminders of what a burden his wife and her wheelchair were.

"Besides, you won't be sleeping in this bedroom," Sesha said sharply. "Your room is across the sitting room."

The steward schooled his face so not to laugh; Aaron's turned an ugly shade of purple.

"Nurse Schaffer will be sharing my room," his wife said. "She needs to be close to help me in the night."

Three porters shuffled into the room, struggling under the weight of one of Sesha's heavy trunks.

Puffing from his exertion, one of the men gestured to the trunk's lock. "I'll need a key, ma'am. If you want the stewards to unpack."

Sesha drummed her nails on her chair's arms. Then she noticed her new nurse lurking in the corner. "No," she ordered. "Nurse Schaffer will do it. She'll need to earn her keep on this cruise, after all."

Paulla made a small curtsy and took the key Mrs Doral offered. She must not forget her role as the demur obedient servant.

"Good. That's settled." Sesha watched her husband running a finger along the furniture, checking for dust particles. "Aaron," she snapped. "I'd like to go out to the deck to join in with the bon voyage with the other passengers."

"Do you think that's wise? There'll be a crowd-"

"Come on," she interrupted his protests. "Push me. We'll leave the nurse to get on with her tasks."

They had not yet reached the dockside railing when a steward approached them and delivered Sesha a note.

"Oh Aaron!" she cried, excitement shaking the paper in her hands. "I can't believe it! Laura Roslin is also on board. She wants us to join her for tonight's Aloha Dinner."

She noticed that her husband's peeved expression.

"You should be excited, dear," she drawled.

"She's very rich," she pointed out. "We'll be guaranteed a place at the Captain's table. And she's married an old sailor or something, so you'll have someone from your class to talk to."

Doral's upper lip twitched at the thought of trying to make small talk with some roughneck while his wife droned on with some other society matron. He remembered Laura Roslin having great legs, but a sharp tongue too. Too bad Sesha hadn't bothered to show her equally bitchy manner when he was pursuing her.

On cue, she snipped at him, "Aaron! Move me closer to the rail! I want to see!"

"Yes, dear," he murmured ingratiatingly, but his knuckles were white on the chair's back as he pushed her up the the deck's edge until her knees touched the railing.

The ship's horn blared its final warning.

Below on the dock, Elosha and Emily stood side by side, waving up to their employers until the cruise ship's lines were unfastened and the massive white vessel eased back from the dock, making its way out into the deep water of the bay.

"Mr Adams suggested I take a vacation," Elosha mumbled as they turned to go, tears welling in her eyes.

Emily made an attempt to buoy up the old nanny's spirits. "That sounds a perfectly splendid idea, Miss Elosha! You keep saying you need to go and visit that pretty young niece of yours. Anastasia, isn't it?"

"I suppose," Elosha said slowly.

With the help of Young Jaffee, Emily bundled a distraught Elosha into the back seat of the Rolls.

"It's after five o'clock. I think I'll find my own way home, Jaffee," the secretary announced, fighting to hide her agitation.

Emily quickly strode through the dispersing crowd until she found a phone booth. After closing the door behind her, she drew a business card from her handbag, and dialled the number printed on it. "Hello? Shady Trees Motel? Could you please connect me with Mr Adams' room?"

Jake sniffed along the railing as the happy couple made their way to the ship's bow. A steward bowed and touched his cap's brim. "Excuse me, sir, madam, the dog..."

"He doesn't bite," Bill assured the young man.

"It's not that, sir." The steward bowed again. "It's the stops, sir." His cheeks flushed.

"Oh! Yes," said Bill. "Well, he's real good. Goes where I tell him."

"That would be on the upper open deck, sir," said the steward, relieved that Adams understood. "Dogs may be walked on the even hour and stewards will be present to clean up."

Bill turned so Laura and the young man couldn't see him roll his eyes. This cruise did come with everything!

"I'll remember that, son," he said, tugging Jake along, and gathering his wife close to continue their stroll.

At the bow, another steward was waiting, but Bill had arranged his presence. He was holding the best view spot, and had set up a small table with a chilled bottle of wine.

"I know you don't like champagne, my dear," said Bill, "so I've had a bottle of very dry Riesling brought for us."

"Oh, darling, you think of everything!" said Laura, making sure her hat was secure. She reset the diamond-studded hatpin at the nape of her neck, but her curls whirled around her face.

Bill offered her a half-full glass, smiling at her glowing eyes and flushed cheeks. With his own glass in one hand, he pulled her close, pushing his nose through the thick fox collar of her coat to nuzzle her neck. "Here we are at last, my darling wife."

She gazed up at the Golden Gate Bridge. "Yes, there were definitely moments where I questioned if we'd make it."

He laughed. "I never doubted it," he proclaimed proudly.

Foghorns blared as they passed out of the bay and into the open ocean. Bill's nostrils flared.

"Storm's coming up," he announced.

"Oh, Bill. You're on holiday," scolded Laura before sipping her wine.

"It'll be a rough night," he told her. Lowering his voice, he rumbled into her ear, "I'll have to show you how to ride out a storm."

"There's a trick to it?" she asked, her voice sultry.

"Most definitely requires some special techniques," he promised and drained his glass. The steward stepped forward with his tray to receive their glasses. Bill sighed to himself.

"I've found you to be an exceptional teacher, Mr Adams. I look forward to your next tutorial."

Chuckling, he looped her arm through his. "Come on, darling. Let's get you and Jake back in your room before this storm hits."

But when they returned to their cabin, Laura found a reply to her note waiting.

"Sesha will be at the dinner," she told her husband. "We must go."

In the act of shedding his suit jacket, Bill frowned. Laura waved a hand at him. "Keep undressing. It will be black tie for dinner tonight."

Yanking his tie loose, Bill growled under his breath. Some honeymoon!

~~AV~~

Laura was finding this dressing herself a bit more difficult than she'd assumed. In nothing but a satin robe, she roamed from the suite of drawers to the closet and back. "Did you see where Elosha put my panties?" she asked her husband.

Bill had succeeded in wrestling into his sock garters, high-waisted pants, fine cotton shirt and waistcoat, and was feeling triumphant, deciding Laura deserved some teasing.

Coming up behind her, he nuzzled her neck and wrapped his arms around her. His big hands caressed her hips through her thin robe. "You don't need any underwear tonight."

His hands kept roaming. The robe fell open under his manhandling, and Laura's head rolled back onto his shoulder. She loved the feeling of his thick arms wrapped close, his sturdy body pressed against her back.

But she had to be strong.

"Bill, if you keep this up, we're going to have to bathe again, and we simply don't have time."

"Now, darling," he said in his lowest voice, the tone that rumbled through her very bones. "It's our honeymoon. And we do have some catching up to do still-"

Even as she swayed with him, Laura raised her chin. "Bill, that's low. Trying to use guilt-"

"Guilt?" he said innocently even has he cupped her between her legs. "I just thought we could be a few minutes late..."

She turned in his embrace. "Oh, Mr Adams, there'll be no 'few minutes' of anything." She kissed him breathless.

"After dinner, we'll have one hell of a dessert," she promised, her lips still touching his.

"With a cherry on top?" he said, grinning.

She gave him a quick peck, knowing she'd won. "Most definitely."

But from the sparkle in his eyes, she knew he was going to give her trouble tonight.


	3. Chapter 3

Across the long table in the ship's dining room, Laura tried to give Aaron Doral a friendly smile, which quickly faded at the slightly leering one he gave her back. She had wanted her old friend to find happiness again after the loss of her husband, but on first meeting, had not been impressed with her choice.

And she'd felt small and judgmental that her first impression had been based on his clothing. His jacket cuffs had been a bit too long, suggesting he'd purchased it off the rack in some rush to impress. His shirt had been a too bright shade of blue; his tie canary yellow; his cufflinks large squares of shiny gold like a Reno gambler.

She turned to her husband sitting beside her, taking in his well-fitted black and white evening dress, and her smile returned. Bill grinned back. Her hand swept down his arm, squeezing his strong dark wrist above the snowy shirt cuff.

When she'd finally prised him loose from his faithful old blue suit, the Harrison Street tailor had admired its workmanship. Yes, it had been frayed at the hems and the cut was a decade out of style, but it had been a quality garment. It still had pride of place in their dressing room.

That seersucker suit though...Her hand drifted below the table. It had been her choice in an inspired moment, thinking it would be perfect for summer Sunday strolls through Golden Gate Park. He'd resisted, until she'd leaned close, her lips right on his ear, and promised him she'd give him a suitable reward as soon as they got home-perhaps even in the car, pulled off at some deserted pier...

Her palm smoothed up his sturdy thigh.

Bill had been chatting with the First Officer seated to his left, engaged in a frustrating conversation about the approaching storm. Giving a bland smile, the bridge officer was dismissing his concerns. "No need to worry, Mr Adams. We'll take care of everything."

With this arousing distraction, though, he blinked slowly and looked at Laura out the corner of his eye.

She lifted her wine glass with her free hand and smiled mysteriously at him over the rim before taking a sip.

Draping his arm along the back of her chair, his fingertips began to casually dance along her bare back as he returned to his conversation.

Laura's eyes lit at the challenge. Pressing her thigh to his, she slipped her foot from her silver sandal and rubbed her stockinged toes up the sheer hose of his sock.

Sesha watched them from across the table and nearly choked on her suddenly sand-dry roll. What had happened to Laura Roslin? Everyone knew she was a tramp under her sophisticated facade, but to behave so openly?

She pinned a smile on her face. "You must be enjoying being back on a boat, Mr Adams."

"Please, call me Bill," he said easily.

Sesha did not return the invitation.

"Yeah, it's great to be at sea on a vessel again," he said, gently correcting.

Laura leaned closer to her husband. "Bill is going to teach me all about being on the water," she said huskily.

"I suppose that's a reason to marry outside your class, Laura dear," said Sesha. "Insight into another world."

Laura appeared confused. Bill took a sip from his wine glass and focused on a spot behind Mrs Doral. His gaze fell on the nurse, standing with her back to the wall, waiting for her mistress to call.

"I made my choice closer to home," continued Sesha. "By taking up with the stablehand." Her tone was light, but her dark eyes were hard.

Doral, who'd been murmuring in a low voice to the bored-looking woman beside him, glanced at his wife. The word 'stablehand' always caught his attention.

"Horse trainer, dear," he said through gritted teeth.

After taking a very careful sip from her water, Sesha's smile was ice cold. "Apparently not a very good one."

Laura gasped and Bill covered her white-knuckled fist on his leg. He hated seeing her distressed like this and wondered how soon he could take her away from these disagreeable people.

"I'm surprised Laura married at all," Sesha said, ignoring everyone's discomfort. "You always said you'd never marry," she said accusingly.

"The right man finally came along to change my mind," said Laura, happy for a better topic.

Sesha gave the Adamses a patronizing smile. "Everyone thought Laura would marry Ray. He was a superior catch, but _I_ was his choice."

The hairs stood up on the base of Bill's neck. This woman was mad. Her husband sat beside her, perfectly still, his gaze glazed over. His wine glass was empty. The nurse stood behind her, her face a mask.

Laura tried to lighten the mood and said utterly the wrong thing. "Oh, Sesha, don't be silly! I was never going to marry Ray, even when he asked!"

She turned to smile warmly at Bill and they missed Sesha's murderous glare.

Doral saw it though. He stood abruptly, wavering for his balance for a moment. His wife looked at him with disgust.

"Adams, lets go to the Gentlemen's Smoking Lounge," he said.

Bill started to protest, but Laura gave him a little nudge, her eyes pleading. He understood she hoped to speak more intimately with her friend.

"Sure, Doral," he said, standing himself, but dropping a quick kiss on Laura's temple before leaving.

~~AV~~

Emily winced as the cab screeched away from the curb in front of the motel as soon as she'd closed the door. It had taken all the money in her wallet to pay for the ride from the San Francisco pier down the Peninsula to Palo Alto, leaving nothing for a suitable tip.

She looked up and down the street before hurrying toward room 3-A of the long, low building. In her anxiety, she didn't note a dark sedan pulling up to the curb. Behind the wheel, Tom Zarek caught sight of the Roslin Industries secretary. He swore violently under his breath. When he saw a man open the door for her and Emily pass through, he shut off his motor and stepped out.

Emily put her purse down on the seedy motel room's chipped table. "I'm sorry, Detective. I couldn't get away."

Rubbing the small of his back since he'd been sitting for hours, Peter Laird winced in discomfort. "It's okay. Nothing's happened with this mysterious Mr Smith of Sagittarius Enterprises." He nodded toward the crack in the window's curtain. "I thought I had something when someone else showed up, but it was just a blonde."

He looked uncomfortable. "I guessed she was there for the usual reasons."

Emily peered out through the curtains to the stucco two-story building across the quiet street. "To his business office?" she asked, askance.

"There's an apartment above the offices."

"No sign of Mr Zarek?" Emily let the curtain drop.

"No, Mrs Kowalski." Equally frustrated, Laird rummaged in his crumpled suit jacket's pocket for a pack of cigarettes. "Do you mind?" he asked before lighting up.

"No, no. " She went to sit on the bed, but then uncomfortable with the idea, moved to a small straight-backed chair and perched on the edge.

He exhaled a long stream of smoke. "I don't know how much longer I can keep making excuses about working late to my wife," he admitted. "And the Chief's been asking questions. He frowns on his boys moonlighting."

She hopped up and opened her purse. "Oh! Of course. Here's your check." She held the payment out to Laird.

He blushed. "I wasn't hintin' around, Mrs Kowalski." He took the check and slipped it in his pocket. "But I appreciate it. This will all be worth it when I give the keys to our first house to Marie."

Emily moved to the curtain again. "And it'll all be worth it when we can prove to Mrs Adams that Tom Zarek is stealing from her."

Zarek approached the motel's reception desk.

"May I help you, sir?" said the clerk, a weedy old man with his few sparse hair arranged artfully atop his egg-domed head.

"Yes, I thought I saw a lady friend going into a room just now, but I didn't want to knock and disturb someone if it wasn't her."

"We don't run that sorta place," the clerk insisted, indignant.

"Of course not!" Tom leaned on the counter and slid a five dollar bill across the greasy surface. "It's room 3-A."

The clerk's eyes darted to the reception book as he pocketed the money. "Mr and Mrs Bill Adams."

Tom pooched out his lips, affecting sadness. "Nope, that's not her. Too bad."

He noticed a payphone stand across the dim lobby. "Thanks," he tossed over his shoulder as he strode to it.

After asking the operator to connect him, he leaned close to the mouthpiece, pressing the earpiece to his ear. "Yeah, it's me." He quickly glanced back at the clerk who made a show of reading a tattered paperback.

"I'm here. Across the street. But so is someone else," he muttered. "Have you noticed anyone watching?"

His voice went up a notch. "Well, Laura Roslin's secretary is, and she's got a boyfriend apparently."

Forcing himself to calm down, he asked, "I don't know what they're up to, but I can't believe she just happened to pick the hotel across the street from our office to have her dirty weekend."

After he heard the reply, he grinned slyly. "I'll stay outside in my car. This bear ain't walking into any trap. He'll wait for the hunter to come out."

~~AV~~

After Bill and Doral left, the ship's Captain and his First Officer made their apologies, explaining they needed to return to the bridge. Laura suggested that the women could make their way into the Grand Lounge to enjoy after-dinner drinks. Sesha nodded in agreement, like a queen granting the privilege of her company.

Laura jumped up and strode quickly toward the dining room's doorway into the lounge, eager for the opportunity for a more private tete a tete with her old friend. Sesha seemed so unhappy. Not at all like the girl Laura knew from college and the early years of Sesha and Ray's marriage.

Sensing she was alone, she glanced over her shoulder, and blanched at the stony look on her friend's face. The nurse was pushing Sesha's wheelchair, struggling to maneuver the large cumbersome apparatus through the dining room tables. She needed to make allowances for Sesha's moods. It must be so difficult for her.

While waiting, Laura busied herself by ordering them both a drink and lighting a cigarette.

"Nurse Schaffer, I didn't see you eat while we dined. Perhaps you'd like to have some supper while we chat?" Laura offered when the other two women finally arrived at the table.

"I'll have a cigarette too, Schaffer," Sesha demanded before the nurse could reply to Laura's polite suggestion.

The young woman produced a cigarette case and lighter from her tunic's pocket. "After I've retired," Sesha snapped as she exhaled smoke directly into her employee's face, "you can eat."

Paulla dipped her head and nodded before stepping back, awaiting her next instruction.

Laura decided they just needed to talk about happier times. "Emily says hello and hopes you are well," she said, finishing uncomfortably.

"Oh, that's right, you're still paying her after all these years."

"She's my secretary, that's right," Laura said carefully.

Sesha blew gently on the end of her cigarette, and then flashed Laura a weak smile. "So generous of you, Laura. How long has it been since that Pole she married gambled all their money away and then had the good sense to blow his brains out?"

Laura took a careful breath. "Nearly twenty years."

"But you'd lost contact with her, didn't you? Before Alex died?"

Laura blinked. What was Sesha suggesting? "Emily was a young mother," she explained. "She wasn't in any position to attend charity dinners and nightclub openings."

"Yes," Sesha drawled. "I can see that you didn't share many interests with her until she needed income and you needed a secretary." There was no mistaking the woman's accusation this time.

"I offered Emily a loan and she refused," Laura said, flushing red. "She had her pride."

"True. And a loan would only last for so long. While a twenty-year long position...And I believe you're paying to send both her daughters to Mills."

"Who told you-" Laura asked furiously, then remembered that Sesha was always close with Mimi Chastian, who ran their old college's alumni group.

Sesha reached across the table to squeeze Laura's balled fist with her cold fingers. "You were always so generous, Red," she said warmly, evoking Laura's old nickname that she'd hated passionately.

"Emily has been the generous one," Laura grumbled. "To stick with me all these years." Her doubts about the validity of her friendships rose again, swamping her emotions.

Seeing her distress, Sesha laughed gaily, her good temper apparently returning. She leaned close again.

"You must tell me all the juicy details of what happened when Aunt Katherine heard you had married some scruffy old sailor."

~~AV~~

Aaron Doral took one of the thick Cuban cigars from the leather case set out on the table. He took an extra moment to savor its peppery aroma before impatiently clicking his fingers at the lounge's steward, even as the man had been approaching with a pair of cutters and lighter.

"The servants seem awfully slow on this ship," he complained.

"Crew," Bill corrected.

Doral waved his hand around indicating there was little difference in his opinion. "Servants are a necessary burden," he mused.

"A burden?"

"Yes. I find they constantly want to know your business. It's always of great interest to them. Surely you've noticed this, Adams?"

Bill thought about Elosha and regrettably gave a small nod in agreement-even though he knew Laura's most trusted servant never had any ignoble intentions.

"It must be the mundane nature of their own lives, I suppose," Doral added.

"I'm sure that must be what it is," Bill answered blandly. Bill pulled out his cigarette case and concentrated intently on lighting one.

"But we need them, don't we?"

"We do? I've survived a lifetime without someone ironing my undershorts. Actually find it kinda annoying, especially when they use too much starch."

Doral laughed, but Bill could see he didn't understand the joke. He exhaled a foul-smelling plume of smoke.

"I say, you're not smoking a cigar, Adams?" he asked, clearly perturbed by the thought. "They're complimentary."

"Laura doesn't like their smell," Bill explained.

"You don't need to continue with the act now, Adams! Women aren't allowed in here, thank god!"

Bill took another long drag of his cigarette before peering over at his companion again. "I wasn't acting."

"That's another thing that we need servants for, right? When the wife has a headache or any other of their many excuses."

"Excuse me?"

"Oh, come on, don't tell me you don't take advantage of their availability? So many young nubile girls come to work, eager to do anything to please the master of the house. It's just the way things are done. It's not like women of Sesha or Laura's age or class are going to give into a red-blooded man's demands. They don't see it as normal. Without the servants-"

Bill stood, his chair scraping backward loudly in his rush. "I'm sorry. I just remembered I have to walk the dog."

"What? See!" Doral waved around the cigar, making Bill's eyes water. "This is just another example! If you'd brought your maid along with you, you could spend more time enjoying yourself and less time having to walk your wife's mutt."

His shoulders stiff, Bill left the lounge and its unpleasant occupant. Treading carefully as he walked along the rolling deck, he made his way to the Grand Lounge. The storm was building up; he had to get back to his wife.

Laura's face lit as soon as she spotted him in the doorway. "Honey, I think we should get Mrs Doral back to her cabin-" she called out as he approached.

"I'm having a wonderful time," Sesha said with an unpleasant tone.

He gave her a steely glance. "This storm is getting ready to hit. It would be dangerous for you returning to your stateroom once it gets worse."

"The crew hasn't said anything," she said, still disagreeable.

Laura took Bill's hand and gave it a brief squeeze. He smiled at her again but didn't back down with Mrs Doral. "They should-"

Just then, the Second Officer arrived and called for everyone's attention. "Please return to your cabins immediately. We expect to be under a storm warning from the next hour until further notice. Stewards have already secured the items in your cabins, but please use caution, even in bed."

Laura grinned up at Bill.

Sesha saw this and rolled her eyes. She tossed over her shoulder at her nurse, "All right, Schaffer. Let's get me back to the cabin."

"May I help, Mrs Doral?" Bill asked.

"No, thank you," she said coolly. "That's what the crew is for." Her tone suggested she expected him to start picking up the shifting crockery on the tables, forgetting his new position.

After taking a deep breath, Bill called over two stewards to assist the arrogant woman

Then he helped Laura from her chair. The deck was already beginning to roll. She stumbled into his embrace, her eyes sparkling. "Oh, this is going to be fun," she giggled in his ear.

He gave her bottom a discreet little slap, and lead her to the doorway with the others.


	4. Chapter 4

"And up the wave we go," gasped Laura between her giggles. She slid up Bill's body and nearly off his erection.

Chuckling, Bill grabbed her hips and thrust into her, chasing her slithering body as the ship rode the storm.

"Are we on the wave's crest yet?" panted Laura, muffled by the tangle of her curls.

"Almost," Bill managed to say as she escaped him, her breasts at his face level. He took advantage of the opportunity, suckling at one while kneading the other.

High above him in the dim room, Laura's giggles turned to moans of pleasure.

This is what she needed after the distressing evening. He had seen she was upset as he'd guided them across the unstable deck to their stateroom.

"You and Sesha; you were good friends?" Bill had asked carefully.

"We were at college together, and then we shared the same circle of friends afterwards," she replied, swaying against him as the ship rolled into the surging waves. "Our fathers did business together on occasion."

"I see."

"You know what occurred to me tonight though. We never exactly shared confidences."

"That sounds like a wise decision," he said diplomatically.

"Bill, I'm sorry." She laced her fingers with his. "I don't remember her being so openly unpleasant. I think we should avoid them from now on," she resolved, her tone hard. "This is our honeymoon. We're here to enjoy ourselves, not make stilted small talk with a woman who's become practically a stranger."

"Maybe she changed after the accident?" he asked, trying to comfort his troubled wife. "After all, Emily thought you'd enjoy each other's company too."

"She was always one to turn a vulnerability into her advantage," Laura mused. "I realize that she was just more charming about it then."

She lay her head on Bill's sturdy shoulder, her voice becoming more intense: "Promise me that you won't let me act that way if something was to happen to me."

"I won't let anything happen to you," he promised, squeezing her fingers tightly, feeling the pressure in the scar on his chest.

She only hummed in reply, a worried sound.

He decided to change the subject away from the Dorals. The ship rose with a swell and he drew her even closer, leading her to their door. "Don't fight it," he murmured close to her ear. "Just let your body go; move with the ship and you'll soon find your rhythm."

She smiled at him. "You're usually very good at finding a rhythm I'm happy with."

They entered their cabin just as a particularly large wave rolled beneath the ship. Laura stumbled. Bill caught her and pushed her against the cabin wall in one motion.

He pressed his weight against her to keep her upright.

"I think the safest place for you would be the bed."

She wrapped her arms around his middle. "The bed? Really? But I may roll out."

"Which is why I'll have to join you." He had slipped her fur cloak from her shoulders, letting to drop to pool around her ankles. "I might even have to get on top of you, pin you down to the mattress," he had murmured into her ear.

That's when their laughter had started, and it hadn't stopped.

Wiggling in Bill's grasp, his lips firmly secured to her nipple, Laura was caught between her giggles and gasps of exasperation. "Le' go," she grumbled, nipping his ear.

He let go, but had to add his own complaint. "That hurt-"

She slid back down on his erection and he groaned in approval. The ship topped the wave and shuddered for a moment, sending everything in the room rattling.

"Oh, that feels good," Laura whispered in approval.

Then the large vessel started to ride down the other side of the wave and Bill almost lost her again. Their renewed laughter didn't help at all.

"That's it," gasped Laura. "We're buying our own boat as soon as we get home."

"Then we'll just sail around, waiting for a storm?" teased Bill. His humor changed to consternation when he discovered she was getting away from him again. There was only one solution. With the vessel rolling side to side now, he flipped her, thrusting deeper with this maneuver.

She writhed beneath him even as she scolded. "Hey, no fair!"

"On the high seas, I'm in charge," he growled, feeling the end was near and determined to send her there first. "You follow my orders." He gave his hips that twist he knew would escalate her arousal.

Her eyes flashed in the dark. "I'll mutiny." She tried to push him back over.

Grabbing her wrists and pinning her hands above her head, he had to dig his knees in for leverage as the ship began to climb another wave. Daringly, he slipped his free hand to their joining, finding her swollen and slick. Neither was hanging on and could truly fall. As the bed shook and shimmied, their cries of completion were drowned out by the vessel's deep groans.

~~AV~~

Peter Laird offered Emily one half of his sandwich after unwrapping the wax paper. "My wife makes the best stakeout food," he said with a grin.

Thinking of her dark flat with her nearly empty icebox, Emily took a big bite and sighed around the nutty homemade bread. She never had learned how to cook. She worked from the day she'd married Alex to pay for his debts, then after his death, to support her small family. When the girls were old enough, they'd taken over the cooking duties, much to Emily's shame.

"Do you need to call anyone? To tell them you may be late home?" the detective asked.

She swallowed the creamy liverwurst and thick mustard. "No."

"Can I ask you a personal question, Mrs Kowalski?" He nibbled a corner of the sandwich and accepted her silence as permission. "When we first met, you asked me to call you 'miss'."

She blushed. That was when she was dressed up in one of Laura's party frocks and an attractive gentleman had shown her attention. Reality had returned soon enough. "You told me you were a reporter," she said, trying to sidestep his line of inquiry.

Peter chose to ignore her taunt about his undercover guise. "When you hired me for this job, you asked me to call you 'Mrs Kowalski'. You're married after all?" he asked, still confused.

"I'm a widow," she said shortly. "It's just me and the girls now."

"Sorry to hear that," he said. "Girls?"

Self-conscious, she shrugged. "Young women, really. They attend Mills College. They could live at home with me, but I wanted them to have the complete experience, so they live on campus."

"One posh school. Must cost a lot of dough to send them there." He dug around in his pocket for a churchkey and opened a bottle of root beer. It frothed and they both laughed a bit stiffly.

He went to the small bathroom and returned with two glasses and carefully divided the soda pop.

Emily felt she had to explain. "That's one of the things, you see. Mrs Adams pays their tuition, board, books, everything really. I owe her so much."

His sympathetic eyes made her look down at the last bite of sandwich in her shaking hand. "We met at Mills."

"You went to Mills? And now you're her secretary?" he asked gently.

"Yes. As I said, I owe her," Emily said sharply, effectively shutting off his questions.

Sensing her intent, he went to the curtain and checked the dark building across the street. "When is Zarek going to show up?" he grumbled.

Feeling she's behaved rudely to this man who was helping her so much, Emily piped up: "Do you have children, Detective?"

His grin flashed in the dim room. "Sure do. Two strapping teenage boys and the sweetest little girl in the world."

Emily sighed again, and forced herself to smile in return.

~~AV~~

Doral staggered along the rolling deck, barely able to keep on his feet. He'd drank several brandies and smoked too many cigars. He considered emptying his stomach over the railing, but was afraid he'd topple over with its contents.

"Sir, do you need help back to your cabin?" A young crewman, his wet slicker streaming, appeared out the gloom.

"Leave me the hell alone," bawled Doral, pushing the crewman.

"Yes, sir!" The yellow slicker bobbed away, leaving Doral holding himself up on the railing along the bulkhead. Their cabin was here somewhere...Their cabin. No, her cabin, his closet.

His damn wife should be in bed by now. If there was ever an experience he wished to avoid, it was watching the nurse assisting Sesha with her night time routine.

He'd frantically whispered in Paulla's ear on the way from the Grand Lounge, suggesting she administer Sesha just a little more medication than was needed so they could have a couple of hours' peace.

He intended to suggest they do it in the bed beside Sesha. He might even get lucky and his frigid wife could wake up during their act for a suitable payback for her shrewish behavior.

Fighting with the swinging door, he finally entered the interior corridor and managed to find his cabin, the number looming out of the dimness before his bleary eyes.

When Doral fumbled with the light switch inside the cabin door, nothing happened. "What the hell?" he whined.

"The power's out," said Paulla, appearing very close beside him in the dark.

"Son of a bitch!" He jumped. "Dammit, woman, you scared me!"

"Sorry."

Peevishly, he reminded her, "We have to be quiet; don't want to wake the beast."

"She's not going to wake up."

"Thank god. She's asleep already?" He reached for the nurse, slipping his grasping hands around her waist.

"She won't wake," Paulla said agreeably.

He pressed her curves against his body, grinding their hips together. But her slightly hysterical laugh made him uncomfortable.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"She won't wake up," repeated Paulla.

Clutching her strong young body to his, he stared over her shoulder at the closed bedroom door. "What do you mean?"

Taking his clammy hand, she led him to the door enticingly, a perverse enactment of his fantasy.

She opened the door, and in the darkness, he could only see a lump under the bed's blanket. But no face; the blanket covered the entire body.

Doral grabbed the nurse's arms and shook her until her cap went askew. "What have you done!?" he screamed.

"We can be together at last," she said, still maddeningly calm.

"Perhaps she's just asleep," he said, taking a step toward the bed.

"Please, go ahead and look. But I promise you, I know dead bodies," Paulla said, her voice filled with humor.

"Do you know what you've done?" he sobbed, tears welling in his eyes as his fury turned to panic. "The will...The will says if she's murdered, I get nothing, not a damn dime for all these years-"

"That is a problem," Paulla agreed.

He took a step toward the bed, then swayed away. "No, no, I can't look!" He covered his eyes with his shaking hands, pressing the palms into the sockets.

Paulla was thinking. "So we have to get rid of the body."

"What?!" he yelled. "Get rid of the body!?"

She slapped him so hard that he staggered. "Shut up, you little twit. There's a storm, but these walls aren't made of stone."

"Yes, yes," he babbled. "You're right. What-we have to get rid of the body-"

"Yes," she said, her dark eyes glowing in the dark.

"But then what?" he wailed. "I'm going to have to produce a wife at some point!"

"Oh dear, you're right," Paulla said, tapping her lips with the tip of her finger.

He raised his hand, anger returning in waves as high as those pounding the ship's bow. "You silly little bitch..." he hissed. "What have you done to me?"

"Put you in a bit of a pickle," she admitted. His quivering fist by her head didn't seem to scare her in the least. "But you need a woman, a woman in a wheelchair, who's known for wearing large hats in the sun," she said, smiling.

"Or perhaps she can suffer from mal de mer," she mused.

"Yes, yes," he said frantically, his thoughts spinning wildly.

"But first, we _must_ get rid of that body," she said, clapping her hands together.

Cocking her head, she listened to the whistling wind outside. "And it's a perfect night for a body to be hurled overboard."

"Of course. Yes." Doral stepped back.

She raised her eyebrows. "Not me, sir. This will be your honor."

"Me?"

"You," she said.

~~AV~~

Bill had finally found the perfect position to keep Laura secure in the bed despite the storm's strengthening, when he felt a cold, wet nose on his exposed bare foot.

"Buddy, it's pouring. You don't want to go out there," Bill rasped, trying not to wake Laura. She grumbled sleepily.

Jake whined.

"Okay, okay," Bill muttered. He gently disentangled from Laura and slipped from under the bedding.

"Where you goin'?" she protested, still mostly asleep.

"Jake needs to be walked." Bill moved carefully to the dresser bolted to the wall and undid the latch keeping the drawer from flying open. He sought the garments he'd seen Elosha tuck at the bottom, puzzlement written on her face.

Laura woke more. "You shouldn't go out in this weather," she insisted, half-rising. "You're still not fully recovered-"

"You weren't acting like that a minute ago," he said lightly, leaning over to give her a quick kiss.

"Bill-"

He slipped into the worn blue work pants and misshapen fisherman's sweater. He'd brought them along, just in case his assistance would be needed below decks. Sitting in one of the white velvet chairs, he quickly laced up his rubber-soled deck shoes. Instead, they would be his costume for late night dog walks on the Promenade deck. Rising, he realized his life was just never going to be the same again.

He gave the worried looking Laura one more kiss. "Trust me, this mutt's going to take one look at this rain and do his business in a red hot minute." He gently forced her to lay back on the pillows and tucked the bedding up under her chin. "I'll be back before you're even asleep again."

Reassured, Laura let her eyes drift shut as Bill pulled his trench coat from the closet and tugged one of his faithful watch caps down close to his ears. Snapping the leash on Jake's collar, he led the dog to the glass door which led onto their deck veranda.

Sure enough, Jake laid back his ears when they could see and smell the thundering rain on the deck. Giving the dog a gentle boot on the rear, Bill forced him from the comfortable room and into the heart of the storm.

They made their way along the rolling deck, Jake becoming more and more miserable.

"You wanted this," grumbled Bill. "And we need to be on the upper deck."

Suddenly, thunder rumbled so loudly that Bill felt it in his bones, and a fork of lightning lit up the sky. The dog yelped, ripped the leash from Bill's hand and dashed off into the dark and rain.

"Oh, son of a bitch," groaned Bill, trotting after the flash of white tail tip as it rounded a corner.

~~AV~~

Staggering beneath his blanket swathed burden, Doral finally made it to the top deck. Paulla had led him as far as the stairs, and was waiting below on lookout.

"Drop her off the back of the boat," she ordered. "Hopefully her body will be cut up by the propeller."

He'd nearly thrown up on Paulla right then, but forced himself to ascend the stairs. Stumbling across the rolling deck as he shifted the slack body, he swore he heard a moan and felt a movement, and wet his pants in his terror.

Was Sesha still alive? Perhaps he should take her to the sickbay? See if she could be revived?

No.

There was no turning back now. He must be free of her.

Teeth chattering, he hoisted the body up to the railing and dared to look over to the swirling black waters below. The vessel was running on a few emergency lights and no one could possibly see him in the darkness.

He pushed the body, and it fell, the blanket wafting away. He saw stiff white legs, a hank of dark hair, and then he had to turn away.

A strong male voice bellowed, "Hey!" from the deck below.

He had been seen! Terrified, Doral began to run, but like some old Keystone Cops comedy, his feet just kept slipping and sliding on the wet deck and he fell. Scrambling to his feet, he lost his balance again, rolling across the water-covered surface.

Sobbing like a child, he lay on the deck, waiting for big hands to grab him.

Nothing. He listened again. There was nothing but the yowling wind and pounding rain.

Then Paulla's innocent voice. "Aaron, darling, come here," from the top of the stairs.

On his hands and knees, he crawled to her. Grasping the railing for support, he managed to get to his feet. In a grotesque attempt at maintaining his appearance, he straightened his tie and slicked back his sopping hair.

She smiled approvingly at his effort. Tipping her head, she directed his attention down the stairs. "I'm sorry, but there's another body to get rid of."

Doral slowly approached the large form draped face down on the stairs.

"He saw you," she rasped in his ear, following closely.

Extending his leg, Doral pushed the head over to see the face.

"Oh damn!" he gasped.

"Yes, that's why we have to get rid of him," said Paulla, still calm as a summer pond.

Doral stared down at the man and felt another flood of urine run down his leg.


	5. Chapter 5

Laura rolled over, a sense of unease waking her. The storm continued to rage outside, and Bill was still gone. Then, above the yowling wind, she heard a dog's whimper outside the veranda door. Scrambling from the bed, she hurried to the glass door.

As soon as she unlatched it, Jake darted in and shook, spraying water everywhere.

"What in the world-" Laura held up her hands in an ineffectual defense against the water droplets. "Where's your master?"

She peered out into the gloom, but there was no Bill bringing up the rear.

"What time is it?" she said aloud, her unease turning to growing concern. At the bedside, she retrieved her glasses from the table's drawer and read the clock's glowing hands.

Bill had to have been at least half an hour. Something was terribly wrong. Snatching up the phone, she clacked the receiver and demanded to speak to the header steward.

"This is Mrs Adams. My husband is missing-"

"Quite a few of the gentlemen are passing the storm in the Tiki Hut Lounge, Mrs Adams-"

She interrupted. "He went out with our dog for a short walk. Just long enough to take care of the dog's business. Our dog's returned alone-"

"I'm sure he's gone to the bar-" the young man said soothingly.

"He has not gone to the bar! I insist that you begin a search immediately."

"Yes, ma'am," he said blandly.

She slammed the phone down.

Jake was pacing, still whining.

If only he could speak! Frustrated, Laura yanked on slacks and a light sweater, and quickly tied on a pair of tennis shoes. Pulling on her raincoat and wrapping her hair in a scarf, she headed to the door. Jake followed close, shaking from the cold.

"No, Jake, get in your basket. If Bill comes back, he'll know you're not still lost. I'm sure that's all that's happened," she said, trying to reassure herself as well as their pet.

Jake slowly walked to his basket. After circling three times, he laid down, propping his nose on the edge as he watched Laura with worried brown eyes.

Fighting the wind, Laura made her way to the upper deck, hanging onto the slippery railing for support. Hands reached out to help her mount the top step.

"Ma'am, you should return to your room!" a crewman bellowed in her ear.

"I'm looking for my husband! He came here to walk the dog!"

"I'm sure he just went to the Tiki Hut Lounge, Ma'am-"

Biting back curses, Laura shook her head. "The dog came back alone! He has to be out here somewhere!" She shoved the young man away. "Please search for him! He's a dark-haired man in a trench coat."

"Yes, Ma'am." The crewman staggered off across the heaving deck, looking around as though he was seeking for a lost penny in the dark.

Her anger and fear battling, Laura carefully made her way down the stairs, back inside and to the ship's front desk.

Dripping wet and bedraggled from the wind, she was a sight for the cluster of crew members behind the counter. She pounded on the shining surface. "I demand to speak to the head steward!"

A tall young man with Hollywood looks stepped forward, pinning a shining smile on his face. "Mrs Adams."

"Have you begun the search for my husband? I don't see anyone out there."

He quickly looked at the other men who all shrugged. "He does not have seemed to have shown up-"

"I know that," she hissed.

"Perhaps he popped into a friend's cabin," the steward said with an insinuating smirk.

"We don't know anyone-" Laura stopped. "Actually, we do. And I can see him checking on Mrs Doral to make certain she was riding out the storm with no problems."

Overcome with relief, she dashed away.

At the Dorals' door, Laura forced herself not to pound on it hysterically. She rapped loudly though, in case they were asleep.

The door finally cracked open. Aaron Doral peered out at her. At the sight of Laura, his face blanched an even paler shade of pasty white. His mouth fell open. "Mrs Adams!" he gasped.

"I'm so sorry to disturb you," babbled Laura, "but is my husband here? Bill?"

Doral blinked rapidly. "He's missing?"

"Yes." She gulped back tears.

"No, no, he's not here." Doral clung to the door. "Sorry."

"Are you unwell?" Laura asked, even as her own distress grew.

"Yes, this storm." He forced on a sickening smile. "And Sesha, she's very unwell."

"Should I call the doctor?"

"No," he shouted, then lowered his voice to a whisper: "She doesn't want any fuss." He peeked over his shoulder into the dark room. "You should go," he muttered. "Go find your husband."

"Yes, thank you," said Laura uncertainly, having expected him to offer to help. But he did have his own wife to care for...She turned quickly and hurried back down the corridor.

Doral slammed the door shut and leaned on it in relief. Paulla loomed out the darkness, brandishing the shuffleboard paddle.

"Why did you bring that thing back to the cabin?" he wailed.

"I couldn't leave the weapon out there," she pointed out practically and leaned it against the wall.

He had to hang onto the doorknob to keep from falling to the floor.

She gathered him up with her strong nurse's arms and pulled him close. "We can finally be together, Aaron." Her fingers fumbled at his pants' fly.

"How can you...Possibly...Want..." Doral babbled.

"I always want you; you drive me wild with passion," panted Paulla. They had slid to the floor and were now in an uncomfortable pile on the carpet. She rolled atop him, grinding their hips together.

He felt that now-familiar taste of bile.

Unbuttoning her uniform top, she pressed her breasts against his heaving chest. "Oh, Aaron," she moaned.

He turned his face away. "I can't...I just can't," he gasped.

She was busily undoing his tie. "Oh yes you can," she said, steely.

Whimpering in the back of his throat, he realized he did have to do it, after what had happened this evening.

~~AV~~

Emily jerked her head up. She'd been drifting off, even though she was sitting on the hard wooden chair.

"Surveillance isn't the most exciting aspect of police work," Peter Laird told her as he smiled sympathetically. He shifted in his own hard chair and winced in pain.

"Private detective work," she corrected quietly.

"Yeah, sorry. Keep forgetting this isn't a legit job." Peter busied himself by checking out the window again. He felt bad that a lady such as herself had to spend the night in this sort of motel.

He glanced back at Emily, about to apologize for that. She sat plucking at the material of her skirt, consciously not looking at the sagging double bed which dominated the room.

"I've never done this sorta of thing before," he admitted, then decided that didn't sound quite right and nervously turned his attention to the building across the street again.

"I'm sorry," she said throatily as she stood. "I wouldn't have asked for your help if I'd known you risked getting into trouble with Detective Tyrol."

Suddenly she was beside him, peering out the curtain too, standing so close he could smell the light floral scent of her perfume. "Perhaps you could recommend someone else if you are feeling guilty," she offered.

"No!" He gulped. "I mean, it's okay. I really believe in what you're trying to do. We'll get something to pin on him soon, don't worry."

"I hope so. Laura doesn't deserve someone like him taking advantage. She's been so good to me." Emily tilted her head, covertly taking in his pleasant fair features. She needed to remember he wouldn't be doing this if she wasn't paying him. "It doesn't look like it's going to be tonight."

"Yeah, maybe we should try again tomorrow," Peter agreed, picking up the telephone. "I'll call you a cab."

"No, that's okay," she said quickly, eyeing her empty purse on the table. "I'll walk."

"Walk?"

She looked away from his concerned look. Tears stung her eyes. Maybe she was making a foolish mistake. Stealing from Laura, making a man lie to his wife and his colleagues...She suddenly felt very tired, and it had nothing to do with the hour.

"I won't let you walk, Mrs Kowalski." Of course he wouldn't. He was a gentleman. That's why he was happily married, she reminded herself. "Give me fifteen minutes to pack up my gear, and I'll drop you off home."

When the couple slipped through the motel room door, Tom Zarek slumped down behind his car steering wheel, watching them hurry to a dark blue coupe parked at the curb. When they passed under a street light, Zarek got a good look at the man.

The police detective from that mess with Saul Tigh's wife...Laird. His name was Laird. Zarek quickly wrote down the license number, and when they drove away, he hopped from his car and strode across the quiet street.

He knocked on the door to the upstairs apartment at the Sagittarius Enterprises. Meier opened it cautiously.

"What's up?" he said, letting Zarek pass through.

"I found out who's working with Emily," he said after Meier closed the door behind him.

They moved to the bar and Meier poured them drinks as he asked, "Who?"

"A cop."

"What the hell?" hissed Meier.

"Don't worry. I don't believe it's an official investigation." Tom sank into a leather club chair and sipped his Scotch. "I would have heard something from my sources."

"So what do we do?" Meier looked to the closed bedroom door.

Zarek smiled grimly at his friend over the rim of his glass. "I'm not going to let this stop me. Not when we're this close."

~~AV~~

Laura had searched all the decks, looked in all the lounges and down every corridor. The crew had finally joined her after she'd burst onto the bridge, demanding action.

Her eyes flashing, she'd vowed in thundering tones, "I will buy this line, and personally fire every single one of you if you don't do something immediately! My husband could have fallen overboard-"

With crewmen spread out across all the decks, checking in every lifeboat, under every deck chair, Laura decided to look below decks. Perhaps something had led Bill to believe that Jake had sought refuge there.

She followed the sound of pounding pistons and chugging valves. A few oil-covered men in coveralls watched her pass, their faces curious, but no one stopped her.

In the dimness of the thunderous engine room, she spotted a table of men playing poker...And a familiar dark head bent over his cards.

Furious and relieved at the same time, she rushed toward the table.

"What's going on?" she demanded.

Bill's head snapped up and he stared at her in shock. She must look a fright, her hair a mass of wind-whipped curls, her makeup streaked.

Bill immediately stood, and took her arm. "Uh, Ma'am," he said, glancing over his shoulder at the others, apparently confused. "I think you should get back to your cabin. You don't belong down here."

She pulled him close into her embrace, so happy to feel his sturdy bulk.

But he was stiff in her arms as the crewmen all hid their grins behind their cards. She realized he probably didn't think this was proper in front of his former compatriots. Letting him go, she gripped his arms and squeezed them.

"Yes, let's go back up top, sir," she commanded, tucking her arm in his. So, he thought she was embarrassing him. Well, she didn't care.

Bill nodded and winked at the men at the table, giving them a quick goodbye as he slipped his winnings in his pants pocket.

That's when Laura noticed that his eyes were glassy. Perhaps he had gotten something to drink after all-that would explain his odd behavior. Anger welled, but she just wanted to get him back to the cabin and into some dry clothes; his were dripping wet, his hair askew.

"Come back any time," offered the largest, greasiest crewman. Bill grinned, tipping his head at Laura as if to say, _ah, but the little woman._ "Let me show this nice lady back to her cabin first," he said.

Laura bit back a tart setdown and marched him to the stairwell. Above deck, the wind was still howling and she didn't have a chance to put him right. It could wait until they were in the peace and quiet of their cabin.

She pushed him through their cabin door, throwing off her saturated raincoat, followed by her sweater that had also managed to become wet through.

"Ma'am! What are you doing?" Bill asked, turning as if to leave the cabin.

"You need to get out of those wet clothes too!" she ordered as Jake rushed at his master, wiggling in excitement.

Bill gathered his trench coat close. "What? Are you crazy!?"

"I didn't make a scene down there with your new friends, but I will not tolerate your silliness anymore." She fought back tears. "You're dripping wet! You know you can't get sick, with your spleen missing-"

"What the hell are you talking about?" Bill patted the prancing Jake, appeasing him. "Cute dog."

"Don't play the tough guy with me," Laura said, sounding pretty tough herself. She began to wrestle with Bill for his coat. "Doctor Cottle told you how dangerous illness could be-"

Grabbing her wrists, Bill held her off. "Lady, I don't know what your deal is, but I'm not that kinda guy!"

"Darling, what are you talking about? Of course you're that kinda guy!" She decided to try some sugar instead of vinegar and pressed herself close. "I know how we can warm you up," she murmured seductively.

Mouth agape, he stared down at her. "I've seen women like you on boats before; lookin' for some loving on the high seas-"

"Of course I am," she sputtered. "I'm on my honeymoon!"

He shook his head as though trying to clear it, but winced instead. "Honeymoon? Where's your  
husband?"

Frightened, Laura cradled his cheek. "Right here. You're my husband!"

His blue eyes were completely sincere when he told her, "Lady, I have no idea who you are."


	6. Chapter 6

Bill blinked. "Your husband?"

When he'd looked up from his cards and seen this woman standing over him, he'd thought she was the type who were passengers on long sea voyages-rich widows or divorcees looking for a sailor to take their minds off their heartache. It wasn't uncommon for crewmen to show old dames a fun time for a few days and receive an extra large tip at the end of the voyage.

But something about her had made his good manners kick in and he'd decided to do the polite thing by steering her away from the scoundrels that might take advantage and deliver her back to her berth himself.

But apparently she was not well if she was weaving complicated fantasies about honeymoons and husbands.

"Perhaps it might be a good idea if I called the ship's doctor. Got him to come and visit you, ma'am."

With horror, he watched her peel off her wet pants so she was only wearing her undergarments-and then she removed her brassiere. He whirled away but the image of her bare breasts with their tight nipples was now scorched in his brain.

"Will you stop calling me ma'am!" she cried.

She was pulling on a night gown with jerky movements when he dared look in her direction again.

"This joke isn't funny, Bill. I've been worried sick for hours!"

He scratched his head, trying to remember if any of the boys at the table had said his name out loud. No, definitely not. He peered at the woman's face, trying to remember if he'd met her when she came on board. Surely he'd remember this sort of striking and sophisticated woman.

"You know my name," he commented.

"How much did you have to drink?"

She leaned close, delicately sniffing his breath.

He quickly took a step back. "Why don't I call the head steward? See if your husband is on board. He should be able to help you," he said gently.

"You are my husband. I'm your wife!"

Frightened by the raised voices, Jake beat a retreat to his bedroom.

"My wife died six years ago, ma'am." He tried to keep calm, even though she was becoming increasingly agitated.

"No, that was Carolanne. I'm Laura. Your wife, Laura." She lifted his hand and pointed to his ring. "See, it's California gold, made for you from some nuggets we gave Shreve and Company."

He frowned. Where did _his_ wedding ring go?

She held up her hand. "See, and you gave me your ring-"

"Where'd you get that?" He snatched her hand and stared at the distinctive ring that she wore. There couldn't be many copies. "That's my ring!"

"I know, Bill. You put it on my finger at our wedding!"

He sank slowly into a chair. "When was this?"

"Three months ago." Laura's fear returned in a rush. "Don't you remember it at all?"

Three months ago. Three months ago he'd been...What had he been doing? He'd been running the route from Miami to San Francisco via the canal for the Occidental Line. He looked around the posh cabin. But this wasn't his captain's quarters, with its tight little bunk tucked against the one porthole.

"How long have we known each other?" he asked.

"Uh...Well, three months."

He looked her over, askance. "We had to get married?"

"No!" She was starting to become angry. "You wanted to marry me, buddy! Demanded it!"

"I see," he said, not seeing at all. He rubbed his head in confusion, but then winced.

"Darling, what is it?" Laura came to his side instantly, wrapping her arm around his shoulders.

"Gotta sore head," he admitted, wondering about the ease with which she called him 'darling'.

She parted his thick hair and gasped. "Oh Bill, there's a large welt here. Let me call the doctor!"

Before he could refuse, she'd already picked up the receiver to her telephone. She started the call with 'it's Mrs Adams'.

After demanding the doctor, Laura hurried to the bathroom and returned with a glass of water.

"Drink this, dear."

He took the glass, giving her a small smile of thanks, but carefully shifted away in the chair when she sat on the arm.

"Do you remember what happened?" she asked.

"Nah. Just...There was a storm. There is a storm. Went below to check on the engine," he said slowly. "Everything was good. Decided to join the game."

"What about before that?"

"I'm on...On the _Maria Celeste_." He paused, hesitating for a moment. "I going from Panama City to 'frisco with a load of bananas. Last voyage before retirement," he finally decided triumphantly.

"That's when we met, three months ago," she explained.

"And we got married," he said, stilted, looking around the room again. "And now we're on our honeymoon."

"Yes, aboard the _U.S.S. Monterey_ to Hawaii."

"That sissy line? Damn."

"You're not working on it. You're a passenger," she reminded him, and the confusion in his eyes tore at her heart.

Something suddenly struck him. "I can't afford this!"

"You're not paying for it. I am," she admitted, retrieving a large fuzzy white robe from the bathroom, not the gown's matching slinky robe, and wrapping it close.

"I'm a gigolo?" His lip curled in horror.

"No, no." She held back hysterical giggles. "You pay for many things. But I have plenty of money." she said airily.

His head was beginning to thump harder and he cradled it in his hands. "So why'd you marry a lug like me?"

A comforting hand rubbed the back of his neck. "Because I love you, you ninny," she said, the tears starting to fall.

"Oh." He peered up at her, suspicious. "How did you meet some old sailor anyway, if you're a dame with a load of dough...You're from San Francisco?"

She nodded.

"Some Nob Hill lady..."

"Pacific Heights," she corrected.

He rolled his eyes and winced again. "Can't see you hanging out in sailors' bars-"

"We didn't meet there!" she said hotly.

"Then where?" he challenged.

"Ummm...On the docks," she admitted. "I was walking on the docks when you misunderstood why I was walking on the docks."

He snorted and grinned, and she grinned back, her flashing eyes softened. He decided she was really very pretty; didn't blame himself at all for grabbing a hold of that-

There was a rapping on the door.

She hopped off the chair and rushed to the door. "The doctor!" she exclaimed, yanking the door open.

The ship's captain, resplendent in his snow-white tunic and gold braid and buttons, was in the doorway.

"This is Doctor Ishay," he said, leading a tall, dark-haired man in. The medical man, his dingy tunic mis-buttoned, was swaying on his feet, despite the fact the storm had finally wound down.

Laura looked at him in horror. "Really, I don't think-"

Bill stood. "Captain-I'm afraid I don't know your name."

"Captain Russo," the charming gray-haired man said, giving Bill a smile. "Mr Adams, I'm so sorry about the delay in searching for you-"

Surprised at the officer's ingratiating manner, Bill blinked.

"My husband's sustained a head injury," Laura said, a demanding edge on her voice. "He's suffering memory loss."

"What do you remember?" asked the doctor in a rich English accent, sounding thankfully more sober than his manner would suggest.

Bill glanced at Laura and flushed. "Being on a ship."

"Yes, yes," Doctor Ishay said encouragingly.

"Just not this ship," Bill admitted. "My last ship. I was a sea captain."

The doctor nodded and moved in to peer into Bill's eyes. He shone a penlight into them, causing Bill to blink. Then he parted Bill's hair and examined the wound. "Sure enough," he said with a jolly note. "A rap right on the noggin!"

Laura gasped in exasperation, gripping her own arms in frustration. "Doctor!"

"Perhaps he slipped in the rain," suggested the Captain. "Do you remember anything?"

"No," growled Bill in frustration, beginning to shiver.

Seeing she would get nothing from the doctor, Laura moved in. "Get out of these wet clothes - _now_!"

All the men jumped, and Bill slowly begin to strip, his face flushed.

Seeing his discomfort, Laura stormed to the the bathroom and retrieved that ridiculous brown robe of his that he'd insisted on bringing. As soon as he saw it, his face lit up. Apparently that was proof he was in the right cabin!

She tossed it over his lap and he wiggled out of his wet pants under it.

But when he pulled off of his undershirt, the doctor blinked in surprise. "Good God, sir, that's quite the zipper you have there."

Bill glanced down at his chest and reacted in horror. "What the hell happened?"

"You were shot, dear," Laura told him. "About two months ago."

"Shot? Who would shoot me?"

"It's very long story." She didn't want to tell him about Ellen Tigh now.

"So as soon as I marry you, someone tries to plug me?" That suspicious look was back and Laura had to fight the urge to slap him.

"If you can survive a gunshot that gives you that wound, you'll survive a tap to the head, Mr Adams," Doctor Ishay assured Bill.

"A tap?" Laura gasped. "It must have been much more than a tap to give Mr Adams amnesia."

"It's probably only a short term case, Mrs Adams. Nothing to worry about. Why, I wouldn't be surprised at all if he wake up in the morning with his memory restored." The doctor spoke over Bill's head as though he wasn't there. "And if it isn't, well, no harm done. I'm sure he won't miss a mere three months. It's not like a huge amount could have happened."

"Except getting shot," Laura pointed out dryly.

"And married," Bill added, his gaze darting to his lovely wife and away.

Ishay shrugged and gave a toothy grin with his terribly discolored teeth. "Why, I forget entire months all the time and am no worse for it!" He suddenly roared with laughter. "I've misplaced a wife or two of my own that way!"

Bill slumped forward in the chair, cradling his aching head. Putting aside her irritation, Laura leaned over to comfort him-and then saw the large bruises darkening on his back.

"What could have happened here?" she asked, lightly tracing the bands of discoloration.

"He obviously fell," Ishay said peevishly.

Bill tried to look over his shoulder at his injuries. "My back and ribs do hurt," he admitted.

"Should my husband go to the ship's sickbay for X-rays?" asked Laura.

The doctor laughed. "X-rays? Aboard this tub?"

Now it was the captain's turn to look peeved.

Laura put her hands on her hips. "Captain, I believe it's time for my husband and I to leave the _Monterey_."

Bill stared up at her, his mouth open.

"Please contact San Francisco and request a seaplane be dispatched immediately." She briefly closed her eyes on the word 'plane.'

"Mrs Adams," both the doctor and captain said, but Bill's "Lady-" thundered over both of them.

She stared them down. "We're getting my husband back to a proper hospital."

The captain spoke first. "Mrs Adams, that storm we just passed through is bearing down on the California coast. Any seaplane trying to reach this vessel would be on a fool's errand."

The doctor said his piece next. "I would not recommend that Mr Adams attempt to fly at this time-the pressure on his skull fracture-"

Bill stood. "It's just a bump on the head. I'll be fine." He put on his robe. "You got some aspirin?" he asked the doctor.

Laura huffed in distress. Bill gave her a sympathetic look. "I survived being shot in the chest, right? This'll be nothing."

She turned away, not wanting him to see the tears coming.

The doctor didn't help. "Mr Adams probably has a concussion," he said briskly. "He'll need to be checked every hour."

Laura shook off her despair. She must be there for her husband. "Checked for what?"

"To assure that he's still conscious," Ishay said, as though speaking to a simpleton. "Just roll over and shake him," he suggested helpfully.

Bill glanced toward the large bed and flushed.

Seeing his discomfort, Laura took a deep breath. "Perhaps Mr Adams should stay in the sickbay this evening?"

Ishay shrugged. "Full house, me dear. All this seasickness from the storm. My one nurse will be up all night monitoring their fluids."

"I see," she said carefully.

The captain made eye contact with the doctor and jerked his head toward the door. "We shall be going then. Please let us know if we can be of any more help for you."

The doctor gave of his gruesome grins and a half bow, and both men retreated, leaving the couple alone.

Bill shuffled his wet socks. "Well, ma'am..."

It tore at Laura's heart to hear him talk to her like a stranger, but also to see him still wet and bedraggled.

"You should bathe," she said huskily.

He glanced down at his muddy socks. "Yeah, you're right."

"But I should keep an eye on you, in case you lose consciousness."

He looked even more uncomfortable. "I'm not a baby. I can take a bath-"

"It's not about being a baby. It's about your head injury," she fumed.

Stomping off to the bathroom, she began to fill the tub with hot, steaming water.

"Thanks," Bill said from the doorway.

After she twisted off the taps, she turned to see Bill in front of the mirror, studying his scar in the reflection, slowly running his finger down the deep red line.

"Bill," she prompted. He jumped and quickly pulled his robe together. "Would you like me to sponge your back? Those bruises-"

"No!"

She took a step closer. "But you enjoy it so much when I sponge your back...And your front," she dared to say.

She was scared to death at his injury, but at the same time, a bit angry. He should remember her, dammit, remember he loved her, desired her, enjoyed making love her-Perhaps he just needed a jolt to remember...

She reached for his robe's sash and his eyes widened.

"I've seen you naked before, Bill," she murmured.

"I know," he rasped. "But I don't remember it."

"I can help you remember." She tugged on the sash and the robe fell open again.

Bill raised his chin. He was a war veteran. He'd faced raging storms going around the Horn. He'd been jumped by knife-wielding goons in a Marseilles alley-he remembered this much. He was not going to be cowed by a woman-a gorgeous woman-seeing him in his birthday suit.

He shrugged off his robe, keeping eye contact with Laura. She raised her eyebrows at the challenge, and turned back to shut off the water valves and add bath oil.

Moving much more quickly than his aching bones and swimming head wanted to, he shucked his shorts and plopped into the water, making her jump back from the wave of bubbles.

"You are like a baby in the bath," she said, giving him a soft smile. He sank lower, peering up at her through the growing froth of bubbles.

Picking up the sponge, she dipped it down by his knee, filling it with hot water. Going around to his back, she ran it along his wide shoulders, squeezing soap and water out.

"Feels good," he admitted. "Got wet to the bone out there."

"But you could drop into a card game?" she said tartly, dipping the sponge under the bubbles by his hip.

Uh oh, he thought to himself. Another wife with a short leash snapped right to his neck...He lolled his neck to allow her to run the soft sponge down over his collarbone.

"I was feelin' lucky," he grumbled, then felt an automatic tightening of his groin at her throaty laugh.

She murmured in his pink-tipped ear, "Oh, you'd lost your memory for sure if feeling lucky made you want to play poker."

"Well...Uh...Sure..." He simply wasn't accustomed to flirting from a woman calling herself his wife.

Taking pity with his fumbling, Laura parted his hair and examined his wound. "I want to wash this blood out of your hair, but I don't want to hurt you-"

"I can take it."

Rolling her eyes, she filled the sponge again and wet his hair. Then she gently massaged the soap through the strands, careful not to touch the welt.

He couldn't help the moan that escaped his throat.

"Feel good?"

"Uh huh." His eyes started to drift shut.

"Sleepy?"

"Uh huh."

"Better get you to bed."

That made his eyes pop open, but she left to retrieve his pajamas. He dunked under the water quickly to rinse the soap from his hair, then scrambled from the tub, snatched a towel from the rod and had it around his waist just as Laura returned with his favorite blue and white striped pajamas.

"Let me dry your back," she offered. "Does it still hurt?"

"Feels better." He offered his back and dried his legs as she swept the towel gently across his broad surface, gently patting at the bruises.

"I wonder where you fell," she mused. "These marks look like something more happened than just tumbling down some steps."

Frustrated, he shrugged. "Dammit, I wish I could remember." He gazed down into her sad eyes. "I wish I could remember everything."

She lay her hand on his chest. "Don't worry, darling. It will come."

His thick brow furrowed.

"Brush your teeth." She gave him a gentle shove to the sink.

When he finished and padded out to the suite's main room, he heard Laura's voice coming from the small maid's quarters. He found her on the bed, petting the dog and murmuring to him. Bill looked speculatively at the narrow mattress.

Laura followed Bill's gaze and her head drooped.

"You can't sleep in this small bed," Bill insisted. "You stay in the main room and I'll take this bunk."

"I wasn't planning on sleeping in here," she snipped, then reminded him, "I'm supposed to wake you up every hour."

Bill eyed his lovely wife with a stubborn set to her jaw.

"We have separate beds usually?" he suggested tentatively, still trying to determine what sort of marriage they had.

"No..." She tried to think how to explain the two separate bedrooms without sounding silly. It all seemed silly now.

"You don't sound so sure," he queried, sensing her deceit.

Crossing her arms, she gave him a glare. "Actually, we had two bedrooms, but usually you would share my bed. That didn't seem practical after you were shot, so you moved into my room."

The confusion was back in his deep blue eyes.

"You don't remember insisting we shared a bed to fool the servants?" she probed gently. "You don't remember Elosha? The Jaffees? Emily?"

Bill frowned. None of those names were familiar. "We have more than one maid?"

"We have twelve servants. Full time household staff, that is."

Laura flushed at the horrified look on Bill's face. "But Emily is my secretary," she quickly explained.

"You have a secretary?" he asked, perplexed

"Yes. For overseeing Roslin Industries. And my charity work."

He tilted his head, pulling at his ear lobe. "And what do I do? Is this Elosha my secretary?"

"No. You're retired, Bill," she said carefully. She smiled as Jake nudged his head against her palm. "You came ashore, got a dog and then a wife."

Bill concentrated on not losing himself in Laura's captivating smile or the her apparent satisfaction of their married life.

What sort of husband was he? Bedridden half the time and, seemingly, living the carefree life from her wealth the rest.

Surely she had someone looking out for her. "Your family were okay with you marrying me?"

Laura bit down on her lip. She had never told Bill all the details about her family's tragedy. Now hardly seemed the time. "I only have distant family; they took the news as expected," she said, avoiding the details. After all, Aunt Katherine had taken the news better than she had expected in the end.

He probed further. "No children from your first marriage?"

Her mouth set in a thin line. "I'd never been married before."

He barked a laugh. "What? A gorgeous, rich dame like you?"

She raised her chin and stared him down. "No."

Still deeply confused, Bill gave the worried-looking dog a quick pet and squared his shoulders. "I'm going to bed then," he announced, and marched back into the main room.

Laura exchanged is that so? looks with Jake. She slowly rose and gave the dog one more scratch behind the ears. Straightening her own back, she followed her husband...To find him sitting up under the covers, balanced as far on the right hand edge of the bed as he could fit.

She shed her robe and snapped off the room's lights.

He watched her pale figure, shimmering in the sleek nightgown, coming toward the bed. She stopped at the foot.

"You're on the wrong side."

"What?" he asked.

"You sleep on the left."

"I've always slept on the right, when I've been in a bed large enough."

She came around to stand beside him, her arms crossed. "You sleep on the left now."

"Okay," he said uncertainly and shifted across the bed, all the way to the edge of the mattress, and lowered himself to the pillow.

Lifting the bedclothes, she slid into bed. When she turned off the last lamp, the room was plunged into darkness.

"Good night," said Bill.

She started to reach for him across the bed's expanse but there were no warm hands reaching back.

"Good night," she said with a sigh. "I'll be checking on you in an hour." She didn't bother to set the alarm; she doubted she'd be able to sleep a wink.


	7. Chapter 7

Bill's internal chronometer told him he needed to be on watch in ten minutes. He started to rise out of sleep, but decided to play out the erotic dream he was enjoying a bit longer. A soft feminine body was entwined with his own, exuding the womanly fragrance that was so welcome after months at sea.

Her nightgown had ridden up, and he could stroke her long thigh draped over his hip. Her foot slid up and down his calf, encouraging his caresses. She pressed closer until their groins were rubbing together. He hardened more at the contact, groaning with delight.

He woke. This wasn't his bunk-the mattress was vast, the sheets were satin, the headboard covered in velvet. And it wasn't a dream woman in his arms, but the one who was saying she was his wife. Her lips mumbled against his neck and fingers ran through his hair, finding the wound, making him wince.

She'd dutifully shaken him awake every hour all night, but exhaustion had finally put her into a deep sleep, while he, accustomed to duty watches and snatching just enough sleep to function, had woken at his usual time.

Her hips rolled against him again, and he stifled an answering moan. His erection strained toward her, obviously ignoring any of his good intentions. Shifting back, he took a deep breath. Yes, she was his wife, but he couldn't possibly take his husband's right, not while he couldn't remember her. Besides, if she'd been well into her middle age when she'd married, her innocence must have been difficult for him to surmount. He could hardly rut on her like some animal simply because he woke full of desire. They would have to go as slowly and tentatively as he was sure their first encounters had been.

He eased further out of her embrace, finally sliding off the bed. Laura mumbled in distress, her hands reaching for him. He slipped a pillow into her arms, and she pulled it close, but her brow was still furrowed.

In the bathroom, while Bill brushed his teeth, he ruthlessly used his usual method to block out sexual need; a sinking torpedoed ship; the cries of dying men.

The door pushed open and the dog padded in. He sat beside Bill and looked up at him.

Running a comb through his hair, Bill glanced down at the dog. He didn't like how the beast seemed so worried whenever he looked at Bill

"So I picked you up first, huh?"

Jake's tail thumped on the floor.

"Sorry, buddy. Don't remember you either."

Jake turned around, showing his glossy back to Bill.

Chuckling, Bill gave him a pet nonetheless, and returned to the suite. Looking around, he decided what he'd do to rid himself of these problematic urges.

Laura woke to odd sounds; thumping and grunting. Her eyes were full of grit, her head padded with cotton, but she was finally able to focus across the room. Bill was doing jumping jacks. Surely she was dreaming...Shaking her head, she looked again.

Bill hadn't shaved yet and, seeing the glistening grizzle on his cheeks, Laura remembered his face sliding between her breasts, his deep chuckle resonating down to her heart. He wore a sleeveless undershirt and snug knit undershorts, and watching his thick arms rise and fall while the bulge in his shorts shifted around was _almost_ as erotic as his body atop hers in bed.

He stopped when he saw her staring, but then started shadow-boxing.

"Sorry," he huffed. "Gotta do my morning workout."

Propping herself on her elbows, she raised her eyebrows. "I haven't seen this. We have our own special morning workout," she said, her voice still husky with sleep.

Bill did a quick combination of punches, trying to ignore her intense gaze and lithe body reclining in a cloud of velvet and satin. This was made even more difficult when the fine strap of her nightgown dropped off her freckled shoulder and the bodice slid down, showing him too much of her pale breast.

"How's your head?" she asked.

"Uh..." He had to think about her question. "Doesn't hurt as much."

"And I assume there's no change in your other condition?" she said stiffly.

"Nope. Sorry." He dropped to the floor and started doing push-ups.

Frustrated, angry and exhausted, Laura fell back on the pillows, pulled the covers over her head, and willed herself to sleep some more.

~~AV~~

Paulla was greeted by the stench of vomit.

Holding her breath, she entered the sick bay, passing several patients who were either dozing or busily hunched over a bucket.

"Could I help you, miss?"

She swung around. The question had been posed by a man lying on one of the beds. She blinked when she registered he was wearing the cruise line's white uniform.

He stood and surged towards her as the ship crested a small wave. His uniform, she now saw, was not exactly the pristine white it should have been. Suspicious yellow pieces splattered his tunic, causing her own stomach to churn in response.

Fortifying herself, she looked up to give him a dazzling smile, studiously avoiding the way his dark hair hung down all on one side of his head, revealing a bright bald spot.

"Are you the doctor?" she asked, hoping she could hide her disgust at his dishevelled state.

"Doctor Nicholas Ishay, at your service, my lady," he said before bowing, taking her hand and pressing a brief kiss to the back of her knuckles.

"Nurse Schaffer," she introduced herself, dragging her hand back and resisting the urge to scrub the back of it against her skirt.

"Oh yes, I heard you were on board, caring for an invalid. As is another nurse-" he tilted his head for a moment, thinking, "-no, can't remember her name. I'm sure we'll all become better acquainted soon."

She nodded distantly. She certainly doubted she would be seeking out this woman who shared her profession.

"I was wondering if I could trouble you for some antiseptic, doctor. My employer, Mrs Aaron Doral, had a fall from her chair during the storm and cut her leg."

"Oh, that is bad." He gave her a grin with terribly discolored and twisted teeth. "Bring Mrs Doral in if you think I need to check over the wound."

He lead her to the back of the room to a cabinet of medical supplies. "Seemed to be the night for falls," he continued cheerily, "one of the other passengers even had such a serious fall, he has lost his memory."

"Really?"

"Yes, Mr Adams can't even remember his wife! Can you imagine that!"

Her head snapped up.

"Mr Adams?" she gasped.

"Yes, you're acquainted with the gentleman?"

"Yes, he's a friend of Mrs Doral's," she replied truthfully. "He's badly injured?"

"No, no, not physically. A few bruises and a bump to the head."

She took a steadying breath. "But he has amnesia?" She drew a professional mask across her face.

"Yes, but I expect he'll soon have it restored. These things are usually short term."

"Yes," she agreed through clenched teeth.

Aaron really was inept. All she'd asked of him was to push a body over the edge of the deck. Yet, somehow, he'd managed to fail her in this simple task.

She watched avidly as the doctor pulled a key from his jacket pocket and unlocked the small white door with a red cross emblazoned on the outside.

He searched through the various bottles, some marked with a crossbone and skull, until he found antiseptic.

"Here you go," he said, dropping the key back into his pocket again.

Giving a polite thank you, she headed for the door. She and Aaron would need to discuss this latest development. Somehow or other, Mr Adams would need to have another accident-a fatal one-before his memory returned.

"Nurse Schaffer," Doctor Ishay called out to her as her hand fell on the door handle.

She glanced back to see his head cocked to one side as he studied her.

"I was just wondering why you never brought your own antiseptic on the cruise. I would have thought it was an essential item in a paralyzed person's nurse's kit. Mrs Doral doesn't suffer from bed sores?"

She flushed as his drink-dulled eyes were suddenly intelligent and watchful. .

"Yes! Yes, of course. However, Mrs Doral is...How shall I put this," she paused for effect, "eccentric, and she only announced this cruise an hour before boarding. My clothes were packed by a maid, and I was on board before I had a chance to check any of my supplies. You understand these rich passengers, I suppose," she added, flashing him another brilliant smile.

To her relief, he chuckled. "Definitely, definitely," he mumbled as he waved her off.

Aaron was in bed, the covers pulled up over his head, when Paulla returned to their stateroom.

He yelped in protest as she gripped the edge of the bedspread and dragged it down and off.

"You saw Bill Adams go overboard?" she asked, her voice steely.

He peered around the room, ignoring her question.

"Aaron!" she screeched.

He jumped up onto his knees, bravely meeting her icy gaze.

"Yes, I dragged him over the edge."

"And you saw him hit the water?" she probed. "Yes or no?"

"No. There was a storm remember! The rain started to pelt down and I could barely see a few feet in front of me. And that's when that mutt grabbed hold of my leg. Did you get the antiseptic? Who knows what diseases I'm going to develop from this bite!" Swinging his legs around to put his feet on the floor, he reached for his pajama's cuff.

"He's alive."

His hands where he'd been rolling up his pants' leg froze. "What?"

"The doctor treated him last night."

"What!?" he repeated. He looked around the room, wondering where and how they'd escape. "The cops-"

"Calm down. The Captain hasn't contacted the authorities, because they don't know it was us. Mr Adams, it would seem, is suffering from amnesia caused by a blow to his head."

"So everything will be okay? We're not going to the electric chair?"

"Not yet. But Adams' memory will most likely return."

"What are we going to do? We still have another two nights before we get to Hawaii! If he remembers before we dock... There isn't anywhere to run on board this stupid ship! I knew we should have never agreed to this ridiculous idea of a cruise."

"What are _you_ going to do, you mean. He saw you push off Sesha's body, not me. I came up behind him to hit him on the head. _You_ need to get rid of Bill Adams. You're going to do the job properly this time."

Aaron's eyelids fluttered closed; his head went light. He'd never killed anyone with his own hands in his life and now he was expected-

His name barked in his ear made his eyes snap open. Paulla headed to the closet. "Time for Sesha to make her first appearance. Let's get ready."

~~AV~~

His workout finished, Bill lay in the bathtub, smoking his first refreshing cigarette of the day. He could get used to this life of luxury. After shaving and putting on his robe, he returned to the suite. Opening the closets, he stared at the unfamiliar clothing.

"Looking for something?" grumbled from the bed. Laura was peering at him from under a veil of red curls.

"My suit."

Of course Laura knew the suit he was seeking. "It's at home."

"And my brown one?"

"Yep." She sat up and squinted at the clock, finally making out the number. With a groan, she fell back on the pillows.

He aimlessly flipped through the garments. Evening jackets, in black and white, and even a set of tails. Him, in tails! He began to sweat.

"That one," came from the bed. "That one's your favorite now."

Perplexed, Bill pulled out the blue and white seersucker suit. He really had gone through a change; he didn't like it at all.

Tossing the suit on a chair, he went in search of socks. He pulled a shallow drawer open in the cabinet, and sucked in his breath. Pieces of precious jewelry lay on a satin lining; diamonds, emeralds, sapphires set in platinum and gold.

"Laura?"

"Hmmm...?" came from the pile of pillows.

"Just how rich are you?"

"I told you, it's our money."

"A million?"

The silence from the bed goaded him on. "Two million?"

"Really, Bill, it's just a number."

"That much," he muttered, sliding the drawer shut. As he poked around until he found his socks, dark thoughts flitted through his still confused mind. He'd always been frugal-hell, tight with a buck. But had it gone too far? Had he found this easy mark and lured her into marrying him, setting him up for life?

And somewhere along the line, he'd also developed the taste of a soda fountain jerk. Depressed, he snagged that ridiculous suit and headed back to the bathroom.

~~AV~~

Bill waited on the cabin's veranda, smoking another cigarette, while Laura finally rose, bathed and dressed, complaining all the while about the early hour. He watched the crew, small anonymous men darting around the decks. He'd accomplished nothing yet today.

"I'm ready," announced Laura behind him. He glanced up and his mouth fell open, leaving his cigarette dangling on his lower lip. He'd 'met' his wife last night, bedraggled and worried. Now, a sophisticated stranger stood before him in her cream-colored day suit, with a colorful silk scarf draped around her collar, pinned in place by a large gold sunburst broach. Her hair was coiffed into a tumble of curls, tucked neatly back by her small hat. She tugged on her gloves.

"Well, let's go," she urged, jerking him out of his trance. "Jake has to do his business, the poor fellow."

While on the upper deck, Jake seemed anxious, looking around and sniffing all about before finally lifting his leg on the railing. A steward immediately darted forward with a mop.

"I want to wire home," said Laura, shading her eyes to look back toward the west coast off the bow.

"What's up?"

"I need to warn the staff before they hear from the press about your accident."

"The press will care about some guy getting a knock on the head on a pleasure cruise?"

She laced her arm through his. "Yes, they care when Bill Adams gets knocked on the head."

Confused yet again, he led her to the wireless operator's office.

After sending her wire, Bill suggested a breakfast at poolside.

"And we can talk a bit. See if I can jar something in this thick skull of mine," he said as he held out her chair before the steward could dart forward.

"I don't want to push you," Laura said, gazing up at him with worry written on her face.

They ordered their food and a pot of strong coffee.

"I think I'll avoid the Bloody Mary until I've kicked this headache," Bill said.

Her laugh died when he leaned forward and gave her his intense look. "Tell me about your family. Maybe that will jolt my memory."

Nervous, Laura glanced around at the other chattering travelers. "We don't live in the past, Bill, only the future. You don't know much about my old life."

"But you knew about my first wife. How many children do I have?"

"Two sons," she had to admit. "In the Navy."

"Yet I don't know anything about your family? Am I that uncaring?" he wondered aloud, again visited by the horrible idea that he'd married her for her money.

She grabbed his clenched fist on the tabletop. "Of course not, darling!" Dropping her gaze, she confessed in a low voice, "I just didn't want to tell you."

"And I didn't press you?" He still couldn't believe it.

Her eyes filled with tears, she raised them to meet his. "No, you did not. And it was one of the things that made me love you. You accepted that about me."

"Okay." He gently pulled his hand free and lit a cigarette, offering her one, which she accepted gratefully.

He exhaled a long plume of smoke and squinted across the glistening horizon. With his free hand, he absently rubbed behind Jake's ear.

Laura studied her husband's craggy profile and puffed nervously on her cigarette. He inhaled deeply, and the tip of his cigarette glowed cherry red.

"I was a girl when my mother died in the '06 earthquake."

Without looking at her, he laid his hand, palm up, on the table. She grabbed it like a life raft.

"When I was thirty-five, we'd had an engagement party for my sister at the Claremont Hotel in Oakland. I went home...With someone else. My father drove my two sisters back to the house. They were struck by a man who'd been drinking, and were all killed."

He closed his hand around her quaking fingers, holding her fast.

She took a deep, watery breath. This hadn't been as difficult as she expected. "So I'm alone."

His thumb rubbed the back of her hand and toyed with her ring. "Nope." He gave her a lopsided grin. "You got me and the mutt, for what that's worth in my present state."

"You're not leaving me?" Suddenly, she realized this had been her greatest fear since he'd first asked who she was.

"I may not remember the ceremony, but I know _me_. I keep to my vows. There was sickness and health in there?"

She nodded and quickly wiped away the tears on her eyelashes.

"Then I'm not goin' anywhere..." He shifted his gaze at her, looking uncertain for the first time. "If you want me."

Lifting the large hand to her lips, she pressed a kiss to the knuckles, giving him her answer.

Doral pushed the wheelchair to the poolside. Paulla slumped down under a heavy blanket and kept Sesha's large sun hat low over her face. They'd greeted several stewards along the way from the cabin, and made sure to nod and say hello to as many passengers as possible.

Drawling her voice with Sesha's sophisticated tone, Paulla ordered a Bloody Mary for herself and a coffee for Doral from the steward who appeared immediately.

"So far, so good," Aaron said, exhaling with relief.

Bill chuckled. "So you've met Saul Tigh?" he said.

Laura realized she was moving into dangerous territory. "Yes," she said cautiously. "And his wife Ellen."

"Whoa, boy," Bill said with a grin. "I bet the two of you hit it right off."

She wrinkled her nose at him, and glanced around the pool area again. She spotted the woman in the wheelchair with the dark-haired man.

"Oh, there's Sesha and her husband," she said.

Bill looked across the pool. "Do I know them?"

"No." Laura shook her head. "Yes, you met them yesterday."

She'd promised Bill last night that they'd avoid the Dorals, but now was a whole new day. She'd nearly lost her husband; could she lose someone once dear to her heart?

Bill watched her with narrowed eyes. He hadn't known her long, but he could sense her tension already.

Laura rose. "I'm just going to pop over and give Sesha a quick hello kiss."

Bill started to get out of his seat, but she held him down. "No, don't bother. I'll explain that you've been ill and I'll be back in a minute."

Paulla saw her coming their way. "Aaron, you'd better stop Laura Adams from seeing me, or the game will be up before it even began," she said calmly, sipping her drink.

"What? Where?" Doral looked around frantically, then saw Laura. He grabbed at the wheelchair's handles, intent on beating a retreat.

"There's not time. Stop her!" hissed Paulla. "Just tell her I'm ill and don't wish to chat!"

Doral rushed toward the approaching woman.

Laura saw her friend's husband advancing towards her, and wondered why he looked so agitated.

Jake also saw Doral and leaped up. Before Bill could tighten the leash, the dog broke free and galloped at the man, barking furiously

"Dog, get back here!" yelled Bill, jumping up to pursue his pet.

Aaron saw the dog bearing down on him. He tried to bolt away, running right into Laura. They both plunged into the pool, leaving Jake running back and forth, barking with worry now.

Laura sank to the bottom, all of Bill's swimming lessons forgotten in her terror and held down by the weight of Aaron Doral's body.


	8. Chapter 8

Panicked, Laura fought against the thrashing limbs of Aaron Doral. She'd made the mistake of gasping in shock, and her lungs had filled with water. She desperately needed to expel the water, but every time she started to rise to the surface, Doral kicked her again, driving her further down.

Faintly, she heard a splash in the water beside her and then mercifully, Doral's weight was lifted away. She was swept to the surface by large hands. As soon as she broke through into the air, she foolishly tried to breathe, only to choke on the water in her airway.

"There, there," said Bill in her ear, comfortingly close. He cradled her in his strong arms. Pushing her back over, he slapped her briskly between the shoulders, forcing enough water out so she could breathe.

Her hair was matted mess, her hat floating beside her. Choking on her bile and water, her makeup streaming, Laura was mortified.

"You're okay," Bill rasped comfortingly. Tucking his arm under her armpits, he towed her gracelessly back to the edge. Stewards were waiting to haul her out, water streaming from her ruined suit and laddered stockings.

Clucking women rushed forward, sympathetic for her distress. Coughing violently and beginning to shake from anxiety, Laura just desperately wanted to be away from this scene.

Hauling himself from the water, Bill didn't look any better. The seersucker suit was puckering even more, making him a wrinkled wad of blue and white fabric. Water dripped off his askew tie.

"Oh, Bill," Laura gasped weakly, wavering on her bare feet. Her shoes were somewhere at the bottom of the pool.

"Let's get you back to the cabin," he said, assessing her condition quickly. He swept her off her feet, nestling her head into his shoulder so she could avoid the curious gazes. With Jake trotting after them, worry in his dark eyes, they left the pool area.

Stewards pulled Doral out next. He sputtered and spit, his hair covering his eyes. He pushed back the locks and looked around. Paulla was half-rising out of the wheelchair, trying to see what had happened to him.

"Must go. Sorry!" he babbled, yanking himself free from the stewards. "Wife needs me!"

He flung his wet hair from his eyes once again, which tipped his head back. A dark-haired woman stood on the upper deck, looking down at him over the railing, a laughing smile on her wide mouth.

It was Sesha.

When he jerked his head, his hair fell in his eyes again. He garbled her name.

"Your wife is this way, sir," said a pale young steward, trying to lead him toward Paulla in the wheelchair.

"No!" he screamed and yanked away, stumbled and fell into the pool again. When he finally bobbed to the surface, the woman was gone from the upper deck.

~~AV~~

"Bill, I can walk," Laura murmured against her husband's neck.

"Almost there," he puffed. "No sense putting you down now."

Before he could try to figure out how to unlatch the door, a steward appeared out of nowhere to open it for him.

"Bring us some hot tea, and a toddy," Bill demanded, then nodded for the door to be shut after them.

He carried Laura into the large bathroom, resting her on the stool by the door as he turned on the taps to fill the tub.

Turning back to Laura, he found her shaking in reaction.

He began to strip off her clothes, his gentlemanly instincts warring against his more basic ones when only a soaked pair of panties and brassiere remained. He could quite clearly see her dusty pink nipples and dark curls through the transparent material of both items.

He turned away to remove his sopping suit jacket and dropped it with the other clothes.

"Bill," she whispered, her voice shaky.

He came back to her and reached around, letting the tips of his fingers trail across the soft skin of her back for a brief but pleasant moment before unhooking her brassiere and adding it to the pile.

"I remembered," he rasped near her ear.

She let out a long shuddering sigh. "Oh darling!" she exclaimed, sagging against his chest.

"I'm sorry." He needed to correct her, but he was distracted by her bare breasts pressing into the all-too-thin material of his shirt. "I didn't mean I remembered everything. Just that you can't swim. I remembered-just _knew_ -that you couldn't swim. That you would be frightened."

She pulled back, looking across at him with sad eyes. "Oh," she said, disappointment evident in her voice. "It's a start, I guess," she added.

"Yeah," he agreed, concentrating on keeping his gaze at eye level.

She never made it easier by slightly leaning back, offering him a better view.

He quickly jumped up, rushing to the tub to check the temperature of the water. She must be traumatised; ready to keel over from her ordeal.

"Okay, this water seems warm enough."

He turned. She'd managed to remove her last remaining piece of clothing. He gulped as she stood before him completely naked.

Yes, she had been a sophisticated beauty in all her finery when they'd left their cabin earlier. But her looking like this-vulnerable and raw; all woman-was almost too much for his willpower to cope with.

"Let me help you get in," he managed to say, offering his arm.

"You need to get out of your wet clothes," she chided, reaching for his tie.

"I will. After you get into this tub."

Laura stepped in, leaning heavily on Bill. She sank low, until her chin rested on the bubbles.

"Good girl," he said, then stripped down to his shorts quickly. Pulling the stool over, he picked up the sponge and squeezed it in the water.

He noticed tears coursing down her cheeks. "You're safe now," he promised, feeling ineffectual and frustrated. He wanted to hold her, rock her to his chest...

"It's not that," she blubbered.

"What is it?" He asked, beginning to worry.

"I..." She caught her breath. "I've lied to you!"

"Okay." He sat back on the stool, unsure. Dammit, he wanted his memory back!

"You..." She gulped. "You hate that suit, and I made you wear it!"

He burst out laughing. When he caught his breath, he resumed his gentle caresses with the sponge. "It's ruined now. Done deal."

She sniffled.

Unable to resist, Bill leaned over and kissed the dampness from her cheek. "Nothin' to worry about," he rasped, and tilted her head to kiss the other cheekbone.

Her eyes, still filled with tears, looked up at him beseechingly. He couldn't resist...His mouth moved to hers. Her hand instantly sank into his wet hair, holding him to her. Her tongue invaded his mouth in a shockingly intimate kiss and Bill's head started to swim.

He was atop her, thrusting hard, she was urging him on...She was falling off the ship, she was falling past him, hitting the roiling waters below-no, it wasn't her, it was a dark-haired woman...

Pulling away carefully, Bill fumbled for the sponge, coming up with her knee cap. She licked her lips, staring at his mouth.

"I-" he said.

She covered his hand with hers. "I understand, darling. I don't want to push you to remember anything."

He laced his fingers with hers. "I want to remember," he promised.

He leaned in again-there was a rap on the door. Finding his robe, he hurried out. The steward had arrived with the tea and hot toddy. Bill gulped the liquor down before the steward could even set the tray on a table and retreat.

Who had been the woman falling from the ship? A memory? A vision?

He wondered this vision was connected to all the times he'd imagined Carolanne's death. Her pile of clothes at the cliff's edge, the note fluttering in the wind, the waves crashing on the rocks below...But she had been a blonde...

"Bill, are you all right?" Laura called from the bathroom.

"Coming," he said, putting the glass down with a shaking hand.

In the bathroom, he noticed her drooping eyelids. "Let's get you to bed," he said. "You got no sleep last night and now this."

Ignoring her protests, he helped her from the tub, then rubbed her body vigorously with the towel, valiantly trying to ignore her plump breasts jiggling before his eyes, or the way her thighs pushed back against his hands. His rising erection showed his weakness, but she didn't seem to notice, resting her head on his shoulder, her light humming making him harden even more.

Sliding on her nightgown, he led her to the bed and tucked her in. After making her drink the hot tea, he closed the curtains so the room was dimmed.

"I need to go check on something," he told her as he pulled fresh clothes from the closet.

"What is it?" she asked, her voice quavering, her eyes large drowning pools looking up at him.

Hunching his shoulders to armor himself against her begging tone, he managed to shrug. "It's nothing. Sleep," he demanded.

He closed the bathroom door on any more questions, and when he was dressed and returned to the suite, was pleased to see her eyes closed and her chest rising gently.

But when he booted Jake out the door and closed it behind them, Laura's eyes popped open.

~~AV~~

Tom Zarek strode into the Laura Roslin's office and pulled up short.

Billy Keikeya, the reporter for the Examiner, sat with Emily at her desk. The young man stood, his face flushing.

"What is he doing here?" Zarek barked.

Emily's mouth fell open in shock.

Billy recovered first. "Mrs Kowalski phoned me to come for an exclusive-"

Zarek took a menacing step forward.

"Mr Adams has had an accident on the _Monterey_ ," Emily said quickly, rising behind her desk. "Mrs Adams wired from the ship."

Tom's mood instantly lightened. "An accident?" he said, unable to keep the jubilation from his voice.

Squaring her shoulders, Emily nodded. "He's lost his memory temporarily."

"Adams does seem to get into trouble a great deal, doesn't he?" Zarek smirked. "Some day it may be his last time."

As Billy furrowed his brow in confusion, Emily sucked in her breath. Was that a threat? She didn't know just how far Tom Zarek would go.

Tom narrowed his eyes at Billy. "I thought you were off the gossip trail, Keikeya."

"Yes, sir," Billy replied. "But Emily called me in as a special favor. To assure the story isn't blown out of proportion."

"So you're the Adams' pet reporter, huh?" The threatening tone was back. Tom didn't believe for a moment that was the only reason that cub was here. Emily just kept sticking her nose in his business; she had to be stopped.

He snapped open the buckles of his briefcase. "I just came by to drop off the Saunders' contract. I'll be lunching in North Beach. After that, you can reach me at my office."

"Yes, Mr Zarek," Emily said faintly, sinking back into her chair.

Zarek strode out quickly. On the street, he looking both ways before heading down to Hayes Street to catch a cab. He wanted to assure he would not be followed by that secretary's hired cop.

~~AV~~

Bill asked to see Captain Russo, and was quickly escorted into the commander's opulent office. Looking around with a shake of his head at the oak-paneled walls and large desk, Bill pulled out his cigarette case and lit one.

Russo slipped through a narrow door from the bridge. He gave Bill a polished smile. "Good day, Mr Adams. I hope Mrs Adams is no worse off for her spill."

"She'll be fine." Bill wanted to get to the point. "I need to ask you something."

"Of course." Russo leaned against his desk beside Bill's chair and crossed his arms. "What can I help you with?" His clear blue eyes were watchful; Bill understood this man could not broach any discord on his vessel.

"Has any woman disappeared since we left 'frisco?" asked Bill.

"Disappeared?" Russo instantly appeared worried. "Of course not!"

"Are you certain? Do you check on the passengers regularly?"

Raising his eyebrows, Russo opened his cigarette box and lit his own cigarette. "Mr Adams, our passengers are on a pleasure cruise, they're not a load of bananas that need to be checked for rot."

Bill clenched his jaw.

Exhaling his smoke, Russo explained, "Surely if someone was missing, their companions would have contacted the stewards."

"True," Bill said slowly. "Unless it was a woman traveling alone, or...her traveling companion doesn't want it known that she fell overboard."

Russo dropped his cigarette into an ashtray. "You saw a woman go overboard? When!?"

Bill stood and began to pace. "Last night. I think. I can remember a flash of the woman falling overboard, into the water."

Russo relaxed. "I see."

Frustrated, Bill stood before him. "Yeah, I get it. I've gone a bit loco. But isn't it worth checking into?"

Butting his hand on Bill's shoulder, Russo gently led him to the door. "Mr Adams, you've suffered a great injury. You should rest. Have some drinks, sit in the sun. We'll be in Hawaii in a few days and you can see one of the doctors available there."

Gathering up his shredded dignity, Bill kept his cool enough to thank the captain for his time and managed not to slam the door while closing it. He leaned on the railing outside, gripping it tightly with anger.

"What's going on, Bill?" came from behind him.

His head snapped around. Laura stood against the bulkhead, smoking a cigarette, watching him with suspicious eyes through her hat's black veil.

"Laura," he greeted her warily. "I thought you were asleep."

"No. What were you and Captain Russo discussing?" she instantly demanded.

"Nothing," he mumbled, loath to have her see him in such a weak and irrational light.

She threw her cigarette down onto the deck and ground it out under the toe of her high-heeled pump.

"It was obviously something, if you felt the need to leave me in our cabin," she pointed out, pushing herself off the bulkhead and placing her hands on her hips. "You may not remember, Bill, but you insisted we marry, which means we're partners. I'm not some little woman you can just fob off when the mood strikes you."

His mouth twitched at her determined stance and words.

He'd spent several years tolerating Carolanne's sharp-tongued scoldings, and now he'd married another stubbornly tenacious woman?

"Obviously I'm attracted to strong women," he said aloud.

He'd failed one wife, he wasn't going to fail this one as well.

"Bill..." Laura reached out and lay her hand upon his chest. He looked up into her eyes-she was so trusting.

He just had to say it: "I remember a woman falling into the sea."

"From the ship?" she gasped.

"I dunno. I just had a flash of memory. I thought, perhaps, I'd check with Russo whether all the passengers were accounted for. He said that if anyone was missing, surely someone would have reported it."

"He didn't even want to check for missing passengers?" she asked, indignant. "Well, if he won't do it, we shall. We'll just go back and demand the manifest from Captain Russo."

"No, Laura," he caught her arm as she made to knock on the captain's door. "He doesn't believe me."

"I do," she said, as if that was all that mattered. He decided it was all that mattered to him too as his hand stroked down her arm to take her hand for a quick squeeze.

He quirked a smile at her and pushed back his hat before lighting another cigarette. "That and two bits will get you a cup of joe on this ritzy tub."

She snorted and crossed her arms. He peered over the railing to the deck below. "But you might just have an idea there, my dear..." he said, so lost in thought that he didn't notice her little pleased smile at his endearment.

Spotting a crew member swabbing the deck, Bill whistled. The young man nodded, and moved toward the stairwell to join them.

"How much money have you got?" Bill asked Laura.

"Uh..." She fumbled at her handbag.

"Typical hoi-polloi; you don't carry cash, right?"

She turned up her nose.

Bill pulled out his wallet and checked inside. "Good to see I still keep up my same habits, even with a wife paying the bills."

"Bill-"

He ignored her, and greeted the young crewman warmly before pulling him away from any porthole from which they may be observed.

Laura followed closely, causing the deckhand to look nervous.

Draping his arm over the young man's shoulders, Bill reassured him. "Don't worry about the doll, son. She's with me."

Laura recognized him as one of the poker game players.

Bill showed a twenty dollar bill folded in his palm. "This is yours if you can get us the passenger manifest and a pass key."

"The pass key!" the young man gasped. "No one can get that-"

Bill flicked out another twenty. "And that's for any friend who helps you."

Both bills disappeared into the crewman's pocket. "I'll get it," he said with determination.

"Bring it to our cabin," Bill ordered and with a nod, the young man darted away.

Linking her arm through his elbow, Laura asked her husband, "Now what?"

He tugged his hat down low on his brow. "Let's go check that deck where I supposedly fell."


	9. Chapter 9

In the dark smoky Castro Street cafe, Meier glanced around nervously as Tom sat down at his table. "You really think it's a good idea us meeting like this during the day? Sure you weren't followed?" he asked.

"I'm sure. I changed cabs several times and double-backed. I told that bitch secretary I was lunching in North Beach anyway. If she contacted her flatfoot friend, he's probably headed there."

Meier nodded. "What are we going to do about him? We can't keep looking over our shoulders until this deal pans out."

Tom signalled the waiter for a drink. "True. The situation can't go on. We still have a lot to plan, and those two meddling will make life unnecessarily difficult."

"So...The copper has a little accident?" Meier suggested, his voice fearful. Even he was nervous about killing a cop. "We gotta be careful; those crooked bastards get touchy when you off one of their lot. I don't want to end up dimming the lights over at San Quentin."

Tom lit a cigarette and thought for a moment. "You're right. But there are other ways of shutting up a cop. Or at least, distracting him for long enough until we have what we want."

"And the secretary?"

Tom gave Meier a broad smile. "Why don't we try and kill two birds with one stone?"

~~AV~~

"You need to be more careful, Paulla," Aaron growled as he combed a dab of Brylcreem through his hair to create his usual controlled style. "You nearly stood up today. You're a cripple in a wheelchair. What if one of the passengers had seen you?"

"They were all too busy watching you make a fool of yourself in the pool," Paulla taunted.

He frowned at her reflection in the mirror, her dark hair curling at her shoulders evoking the memory of the hauntingly familiar face he'd seen on the upper deck.

He strode over and ripped open the closet, and flicked agitatedly through Sesha's outfits.

"You want me to wear something special?" Paulla asked, watching him speculatively.

He ignored her, distracted as he disregarded dress after dress. "Did Sesha own a plain blue frock?"

"What are you talking about, Aaron?"

"I saw her," he mumbled.

"Saw who?"

"Sesha. Today. She was standing on the top deck wearing a plain blue dress that I didn't recognize."

"Standing? Aaron, dear, besides the fact I strangled her and then you tossed her over the back of the boat, Sesha couldn't stand."

He swung around quickly and took a menacing step in her direction. "Don't patronize me, darling," he snarled in her face. "I know what I saw, and I saw Sesha."

Paulla's hand whipped out like lightning, slapping him hard on the side of his face.

"Pull yourself together!" she screeched. "Sesha is dead."

He calmly fingered his stinging cheek and changed the topic. "We need to decide what we're going to do when we dock in Hawaii. How we'll disappear."

"Disappear! But...but what about Sesha's money?"

"You might be able to convince random stewards and passengers on a cruise ship that you're Sesha, but I can assure you her lawyers will know the truth."

Paulla bit hard on her lower lip.

Doral jerked his head toward the cabin's built-in jewelry drawer. "Fortunately, despite being a pathetic cripple with faded beauty, my dear wife liked to show off her wealth. There's thousands in her baubles."

"But millions-" protested Paulla.

"You do know that the punishment for murder is death, don't you?" hissed Doral. His gaze focused out the windows. "I can start over with those jewels; life will be cheap on a South Seas island. And I'll still have my neck intact."

"You?" drawled Paulla. "What about me?"

He quickly smiled. "Of course my dear. I meant us."

"We must get rid of that Adams fellow, first," she reminded him.

"Yes, yes," he said, irritated. "I'll get right on it."

She narrowed her eyes. "What are you going to do?"

Masterful, Doral gripped her upper arms and glowered at her. "You stay here."

Finding his manner exciting, she nodded, and then fell back onto the bed. "Your invalid wife will be napping this afternoon."

"Excellent," he said approvingly, pulling out dark glasses from his pocket. Finding a wide-brimmed Panama hat in the closet, he tugged it down low on his forehead. "I'll be back, and when I am, Bill Adams will be dead."

~~AV~~

As they strolled toward the dog walking deck, Bill began to question Laura. "I need to nudge my memory. Tell me what happened yesterday."

"We boarded the ship and had a cocktail party with friends before sailing."

He shook his head. "Nothing there."

"Then we attended the Aloha Dinner, where we met my old college chum, Sesha Doral, and her husband, Aaron. She's been an invalid since shortly after their marriage."

"The woman in the wheelchair?"

"You remember?"

"She was at the pool just now."

Laura put a gloved hand to her forehead. "Now I'm losing my memory."

He chuckled, but persisted. "After dinner?"

"We returned to our cabin and..." She flushed. "You showed me how to stay in the bed during a storm."

"Very prudent of me," he said approvingly, but noticed her blushes.

"Was that all?" he questioned.

"Yes..." she murmured, her eyes downcast.

"Laura, it won't help if you're withholding information from me," he said impatiently. "What? Did we fight? Did I head off for a drink?"

"No..." She raised her chin. "You showed me how to stay in bed by holding me down...Beneath you."

He cleared his throat. "I see." He did see, sudden, vivid images of her writhing beneath him, her laughter mingling with cries of ecstasy. Ruefully, he noted that it must be true that men think with their little Captains first.

"The dog walking deck is up here," Laura said, starting to mount the stairs but Bill didn't follow. He was looking down to a lower deck, his brow furrowed.

"So...Afterward...I took the dog for a walk?" he asked.

Laura leaned on the railing and thought about that night. "I was falling asleep, but I heard you talking to Jake, then you got up...I asked where you were going, you said Jake needed to go out, I told you to be careful...I don't even remember you leaving though," she finished, frustrated.

"But the dog came back without me?"

"Yes, dragging his leash."

"So I could have fallen and he came back without me?"

"I suppose," Laura said doubtfully. "But I just can't believe you'd fall. You were wearing your boat shoes, and are an experienced sailor."

He joined her on the stairs. "That's when you have accidents. Assuming you're on the ball."

Suddenly, he noticed something. Reaching out, he pulled a fragment of blue wool from the railing above them.

"Off your coat?" asked Laura, after putting on her glasses and looking at the fabric.

"No. My coat is fine." He turned the piece of wool. "I think it's a blanket."

As he swayed, he leaned on the stair rail. _The body falling, a blanket floating behind her...It was blue._

"It happened here," he said.

Laura clutched his arm. "Darling-"

He pulled away. "Let's keep looking." Checking over the other side of the rail, he noticed one of the lifeboats' tarps appeared disturbed, not to be expected on a ship run as tightly as this one. He clattered back down the stairs with Laura in pursuit.

"What is it?" she asked as he boosted himself up over the railing to look in the lifeboat.

"I think this is where I fell," he said. "The marks on my back are straight bands, right?"

"Yes-"

He felt under the rumpled tarp. "The lifeboat seats..." He felt an oar collar and winced. "I can feel that right in my ribs."

She looked back up to the stairs. "How in the world could you have slipped and fallen all the way out here?"

He stepped back down onto the deck and slipped his arm around her waist. "Good question," he rumbled, staring at the lifeboat with narrowed eyes.

She leaned against his shoulder, suddenly chilled. "Let's go back to the cabin."

Concerned, he glanced down at her. "Of course, my dear." As they strolled down the deck, he reminded her, "That crewman should be bringing us the manifest and passkey soon."

"And we can clear this up, once and for all," Laura said, determined, as she slipped her hand into his and squeezed it tight.

Neither noticed Doral slinking along behind them. When they entered their cabin's corridor, he remained on the deck and leaned on the railing tucked behind a lifeboat, supposedly enjoying the view while smoking a cigarette. Straightening his dark glasses, he noticed the steward delivering their lunch on a rolling cart. Then the distinct echo of shotgunfire caught his attention.

Bill showed the steward out to the veranda to set up their lunch on the sunlit table while Laura disappeared into the bathroom.

"Hey mate," the steward said out the corner of his mouth, gaining Bill's attention. "Your special order is under this cover." He tapped the largest silver dome.

"I see," said Bill, digging for a sizable tip in his pocket.

Bowing, the steward retreated just as Laura breezed out of the bathroom.

"Something smells wonderful!" She let Jake out of his room first, and he wiggled with joy between his two masters.

Bill furrowed his brow. He could have sworn she'd put on a blue suit to replace the ruined cream one... "You spill something on your outfit?" he asked.

She glanced down at her lovely day dress with its geometric pattern of gold and green. "No..."

"You were wearing a blue suit a minute ago."

She laughed as she accepted the chair he held out for her. "That was my morning ensemble! This will be my afternoon dress!" She dropped her napkin on her lap and waited to be served.

He uncovered their plates and poured coffee for both of them. "Just how many glad rags do you have? My wife had four dresses, and one was just for funerals and church." He dropped into his chair.

"I'm your wife now," Laura said with an edge in her voice.

Bill sipped his coffee, keeping his head down.

Laura narrowed her eyes at him. "Besides, perhaps Carolanne needed more frocks and the like. I know how you can be-"

His back hunched up. "What do you mean?" He carefully cut up his chicken, not meeting her gaze.

"You can be awfully tight with money, Bill," she drawled, turning sideways in her chair and draping her arm along the back.

"I never used to be. I had my income; I sent her most of it to use for the household budget." These memories were so strong and easy to remember; the quarrels and cold silences. "I'd come home, and the boys had outgrown their bikes, but she had a new hat, new shoes with bows on the back- _aren't they adorable, Bill_ ," he sneered.

Laura leaned forward, concerned. She could see this was upsetting him. "I was just teasing, Bill. I'm sorry I brought up bad times."

He forced out a laugh. "I tried to be a good provider. Took more and more assignments, more money. But I wanted it to go for the boys' education. They went to the Brown Military Academy-against her wishes, of course."

"She didn't want them to join the Navy?"

"She didn't want her precious boys to go away. She said it was just one more thing I denied her."

"Did they want to go?" Laura asked, sensing more to the story.

"They knew how I felt; Brown offered them a good education as well as the promise to turn them into men," he blustered stubbornly.

"Education is important," she agreed quietly. "But I know what it's like to miss out on the love of a mother."

"If I'd been there, to guide them, it might have been different. But I was always at sea. And I was always at sea because she demanded it; demanded more money," he spat.

Laura frowned. She had never seen Bill so worked up. Especially over one of his loved ones. She had grown accustomed to him being so forgiving of his loved ones' flaws - hers, Saul's, even Ellen's.

"Why'd you stay married to her, if it was so bad?" she asked, fearful of the answer.

"I'd given my oath when I'd put that ring on her finger," he said, as if that explained everything. "No divorce."

She took a shaky breath. He'd said something similar to her yesterday-that he would stay with her no matter what because they were married. She didn't want that. She wanted a husband who would stay with her because he loved her, not out of duty.

"I shouldn't be talking so ill of the dead. It wasn't always bad. We had some good times."

She gulped. Had Bill always expected their good times to be temporary?

~~AV~~

Frustrated by the lack of action, Doral looked up again at the deck from where the gunfire was coming. Clay targets were flying out off the vessel's side but the gunfire wasn't striking them. Intrigued, he decided to investigate. If he could get his hands on one of the guns...He checked the angle of the higher deck and the Adams on the veranda as he mounted the stairs to the upper deck. This may work...

"Pull!"

A clay target was flung high above the deck. It spun in the air imitating the bird it had been made to substitute, and then, slowly, it fell like a stone into the depths of the Pacific ocean.

"Pull, I said!"

A young steward hastily ducked low as a gray-haired man swung the barrel of his shot gun in his direction.

"Yes, Brigadier!" he shouted nervously. "Bird away," he sighed. "Trap ready, sir."

The brigadier, gripping the gun so tight his knuckles had turned a shade of white, swivelled back to take aim at the sky again.

"Pull!" he commanded once more with a strong English accent.

As the target flew in the air, he fired off three rounds.

"I got it!" he yelled triumphantly.

Doral smirked as he saw the old fool's bullets had indeed made contact-with the railing on the far side of the deck.

When the older man lowered his weapon, Doral stepped forward and introduced himself. "Aaron Doral. Good shot, old boy," he cheered.

"Brigadier Blackthorne. Yes! It was top notch!" Blackthorne claimed, blinking his bleary eyes behind his thick eyeglass lenses.

"I was in the Tenth Hussars, yah know." He swelled out his sunken chest with its Victoria Cross ribbon haphazardly stitched to his handkerchief pocket. "But these things do come natural to us Brits anyway. Something you Americans probably wouldn't understand."

"Perhaps you'd like to take a break, Brigadier," the steward suggested eagerly.

"No, I'm just warming up!"

"Excellent!" Aaron said, thumping him on the shoulder.

Blackthorne was going to be a most-convenient shooting partner.

~~AV~~

Bill lifted the cover off the last plate.

"Dessert?" asked Laura.

"Somethin' better," he said, handing over the manifest as he pocketed the passkey.

"So we're looking for single women traveling alone?" She pulled her glasses from her dress pocket. "There can't be many."

"And they're unlikely to spend much time in the ship's social rooms," Bill said, putting on his own glasses.

Laura quickly scanned the names. "Here's one. Beryl Higgins. Lower deck. 12-D."

Bill fetched a pencil and she marked the page. He shifted his chair beside hers until their thighs touched and peered over her shoulder. She glanced back at him nervously.

"That looks like one." He pointed to the name _Joan Smith_.

"She's on the Dorals' end of the deck. In 14-B." Laura marked by her name.

They checked the rest of the pages, until they saw the final entry, Layne Ishay in 35-A.

"The ship's doctor has that name. Are we sure it's not his wife?" asked Laura.

"One way to find out." Bill marked by her name too.

Laura sipped her coffee. "So now what?" She couldn't keep the excitement from her voice.

Bill grinned at her expectant face. "First, I have a smoke. Then we start snoopin'."

Writhing her chair with impatience, Laura decided to join him at the railing anyway.

His cigarette lit, Bill squinted at her through the smoke. "More memory jolting," he suggested. "We met on the 'frisco docks?"

"Yes."

"First date?"

"The Garden Court at the Palace Hotel," Laura said crisply, "We didn't have a good time."

He gave her a sideways grin, then asked, looking at her soft mouth, "Our first kiss? Did I kiss you good night anyway?"

She blushed and leaned on the railing, staring out across the sea. The wind teased her hair. "You didn't kiss me first. I kissed you."

"What?" he rasped.

She giggled at his outrage. "Yep. I kissed you an hour after meeting you."

"How'd you manage that?" He shook his head in confusion.

"I lured you back to my home. You'd rescued me from some thieves; they'd beaten you to a pulp. I had to offer aid," she pointed out.

"Uh huh." He reached out and swept the curls back that kept obscuring her laughing eyes. "Awfully forward of you."

"Yes."

He could feel the heat rising from her blushing cheek, but she met his gaze levelly.

"I wanted to kiss you, so I did." Then her eyes crinkled in amusement. "Of course, the glass of scotch I'd downed might have had something to do with my rash judgement."

He smiled back. "Let's see if I can jar this memory of mine..." he murmured and started to lean in-

A shot rang out, much closer than the trap shooting had been, and Bill landed atop Laura, driving her down to the deck, his heavy, slack body and the smell of fresh blood eliciting her terrible memories.


	10. Chapter 10

"I must apologize, Mrs Adams," said Captain Russo, giving his most sincere smile. "The stewards weren't attentive enough at the trap shooting-"

Pacing, Laura cut him off. "Don't apologize to me, Captain! Apologize to my husband!"

Squinting through the haze of his cigarette smoke, Bill gave the captain his most intimidating glare.

Doctor Ishay was plucking large wood splinters from Bill's hand over a pan to catch his free flowing blood. "You take pain very well, sir," he said jovially.

"Yeah," rasped Bill. He kept the ship's captain pinned under his gaze. "Who did this?" he demanded.

The captain raised his hands. "Now, now, sir. I cannot expose one of our guests-"

" _This_ guest could be dead right now if I hadn't leaned away when I did," growled Bill before taking another deep puff on his cigarette.

Laura stopped in front of the captain, her hands on her hips. "You may have heard about the threat I made to your head steward the night my husband went missing. That still stands."

Russo lowered his head. "Yes, Mrs Adams." He expelled his breath. "Brigadier Blackthorne travels with us often. I can swear to his innocence-"

"He nearly shot me," Bill pointed out.

Ishay and Russo exchanged shrugs. "He's blind as a bat," Ishay said bluntly.

"What the hell was he doing with a gun then?" asked Laura, exasperated.

"He's a frequent guest," Russo explained again.

Laura turned away, hiding her fury.

As the doctor wound a white bandage around his hand, Bill continued to stare the captain down. He saw he was getting nowhere, though. But he'd just added one more name to their list of cabins to visit.

Laura suddenly stopped her pacing and turned back to the doctor.

"Oh, doctor, I met Layne this morning by the pool. Is she going to the Moonlight Sonata Dance tonight?" she asked casually.

Doctor Ishay's face turned a violent shade of purple immediately. "You think my daughter would be doing anything on this cruise that might snare a man? She's got her long nose in a book all the time!" he roared. "I haven't even seen her yet!"

Laura raised an eyebrow in Bill's direction.

"She's come on the cruise by herself?" she asked delicately.

"Of course! She's too busy for men. A doctor!" he spit out in outrage. "They call her a doctor! Lot of damn mumbo-jumbo, if you ask me!"

Bill and Laura exchanged surprised glances.

The doctor regained control. "That'll do yah," he said, tying off the bandage. "Will you want some pain pills? A bit of morphine?"

Bill made a face. "Naw, I'll just take a slug of hooch if it bothers me." He carefully squeezed his hand shut. "Thanks, Doc. This is swell."

As Ishay cleaned up briskly, the Captain tried one more time to placate his guests. "I'll speak with the Brigadier, but I can assure you the he meant no harm."

Bill wrapped his arm around Laura and drew her close. "Trust me, he's not going to get a chance to prove otherwise."

~~AV~~

Giles Tyrol frowned over at his detective. Peter was stifling yawns behind the back of his hand. He was on his eighth cup of coffee. There were dark circles under his eyes. And they hadn't even been on the graveyard shift for over two weeks.

If anyone had told Giles a few months ago that Peter Laird would be cheating on his wife, he'd have laughed in their face. But, it seemed that even the most wholesome man's head could be turned by a pretty and available woman.

Giles sighed. Just another reason why he was never going to get married. The only woman he'd wanted to marry, he couldn't. And now she was gone...

Maybe he was wrong; perhaps he was jumping to conclusions. Or listening to Cally too much. Their young foolish secretary had been whispering in the lunch room all about the frequent phone calls Peter had been getting from a mysterious woman who refused to leave her name if he wasn't at the station.

"You're burning the candle at both ends?" he asked, concentrating on keeping the interrogatory tone out of his voice, one that surely Peter would recognize.

"I'm okay."

Chief twirled a pencil between his fingers. "Anything you want to talk about?" he asked. "Or tell me?"

"No, no," Peter answered quickly, looking away to shuffle some papers around on his desk. "Just one of the kids has been sick. We're not getting much sleep."

"So, Marie is okay?" he kept probing. "I haven't seen her in a while. You need to invite me over so she can spoil me with her marvellous home cooking."

"Sure, sure. Good idea. I'll ask her when the best night for her is."

Peter turned his back on Giles and fumbled in his pocket for his packet of cigarettes. Giles noted his partner's hunched shoulders and shaking fingers as he struck a match.

"Which kid?" Giles snapped out the question, pouncing on the opportunity.

"What?" Peter asked, turning to face him again, confused.

"Which kid is sick?"

Peter hesitated just that moment too long. "Oh, it's, um, Jimmy."

"Do you-"

Giles was cut off when one of the uniform boys from the front office entered the room.

"Chief, just had a call. The beat cops have found a woman's body out by Fort Point."

He grabbed his coat and squashed his hat down onto his head.

"No ID?" he asked.

"Nah," said the front desk officer, "nothing on her. Missing persons is running through possibilities now."

"Okay then, Pete. Let's go and check out our Jane Doe."

As they headed for the door, Giles held back Peter by grabbing his arm. "Marie's a good woman. You need to stop whatever you're doing," he ordered.

"I'm not-"

He held up his hand, not wanting to hear anymore. The evidence pretty much spoke for itself.

"I don't wanna talk about it again, Pete. It's your life; your wife. I know a lot of men mess around, but I'm just saying she's a good woman, and doesn't deserve it."

Giles walked off toward the squad car, immediately forgetting his partner's personal life and ready for his new case.

~~AV~~

Doral stormed down the deck, Paulla's tone still ringing in his ears.

"God dammit, you idiot! How could you miss?!"

"He moved at the last moment!"

"Now they will know we're after him! People don't usually have two near-fatal accidents in two days!"

"What now?" Doral had sniveled.

"Just get out of here," the nurse had stormed at him. "I need to think!"

No problem, thought Aaron as he pushed through the doors in the gentlemen's club and breathed in the heavy cigar smoke and brandy fumes.

Sinking into a bar stool, he signalled for a Scotch and accepted a large Havana cigar from the steward.

The stool beside him creaked as someone sat on it. Doral had no interest in chatting so he turned his back.

The man cleared his throat and then seemed to choke on whatever he'd raised.

Frowning, Doral snatched up his drink glass as soon as the bartender set it before him. Then he noticed it was Brigadier Blackthorne.

The older man was fiddling with his handlebar mustache nervously. He greeted Doral with insincere surprise. "By jove, it's you."

"Yes, it's me," Doral said disagreeably.

"The silliest thing's happened," blustered the military man. "The captain's accused me of trying to kill a passenger! Simply outrageous!"

"Outrageous!" echoed Doral. "Whatever would give them that idea?"

"He claims one of my shots injured this man!" The Brigadier gulped down his whiskey. "But I was hitting my clay pigeons, certainly not some poof lounging on his veranda instead of doing something manly!"

Doral made agreeable sounds, assured the blind old man that he'd personally seen him hit every pigeon, then quickly made his excuses; crippled wife needing him back at the cabin.

He hurried back to his cabin for sure, but with a different purpose in mind. A very plump pigeon had just fallen into their laps.

As he turned to go down their corridor, a face was looking at him through a porthole. It was Sesha again! He blinked, and she was gone.

He flung himself down the corridor, and pounded on the door of the porthole's cabin. No one answered. Paulla stuck her head out down the long hall.

"What are you doing?" she hissed.

"She's in there," he explained, wild-eyed.

"Get down here, now!" she insisted, smiling at the couple who passed her, looking disturbed by their scene.

Shoulders slumped, Doral complied. But once he was inside, he squared them. "I've got good news," he told her.

Intrigued, she lit a cigarette and listened to his plan.

~~AV~~

Laura clutched Jake's leash. "I think you should have stayed in bed," she hissed at Bill as they looked up and down the corridor before Beryl Higgins' cabin.

"And leave you to do this alone?" he rasped, then knocked on the door. When there was no answer, he slipped the passkey into the lock.

The three Adamses darted into the room and shut the door. Laura flipped on the lights. This was the least extravagant room on the _Monterey_ , but it was still a first class accommodation. Yet somehow, it felt dull and sterile.

"This room doesn't look lived in; she must be the missing one?" Laura whispered in excitement.

"No, no," said Bill, lifting the Bible sitting on the bedside table. He flipped it open. _Beryl Higgins_ and her confirmation date were stamped in gold on the front. There was another book beneath the Bible; _The Simple People of Hawaii and their Heathen Habits._

He noticed that she'd tacked a cross over the narrow bed. "I think she's a missionary."

Laura checked the closet. Two gray wool suits hung inside. One pair of black, low-heeled sensible lace-up shoes sat beneath them. "She must be here somewhere-"

The door swung open and a plump, red-faced woman with her pale hair pulled back tightly in a bun stared at them. Then she shrieked.

Jake wagged his tail vigorously, trying to make friends.

Laura smiled and stepped forward. "Pardon us. We're the Adams and we were looking for a dear friend. Obviously we're in the wrong cabin."

"Are you Beryl Higgins?" Bill asked, needing to confirm the information despite her drab attire matching that in the closet.

"Yes, yes, but why are you in my cabin?" blathered the woman, clutching the large cross around her neck.

"I told you, we were looking for our friend, Miss Deborah Carstairs," Laura said blithely, beginning to ease toward the door. Her silent husband followed.

"But how could you get inside?" the missionary asked.

"The door was open," suggested Bill.

"I know I locked it," Miss Higgins insisted.

"Our mistake then," Laura said with a bright air, and pulled her dog and husband through the door, slamming it in the missionary's face.

As soon as it was closed, she gave Bill an exasperated look. "We've got to do a better job next time," she grumbled.

He only laughed and pulled her close. "One off the list," he rumbled in her ear.

"Let's try our good-humored doctor's daughter. He seemed to lose all gaiety when we mentioned her."

"Yeah," he agreed, and they headed for the stairs.

~~AV~~

"Oh hello there again! How's everything going? That scratch of Mrs Doral's healed up nicely?" Doctor Ishay waved the nurse into the sickbay, grinning with his awful teeth.

"Yes, thank you, doctor," Paula said demurely. "I was wondering, sir, if I could get some advice. Considering, as a doctor, you have such wide experience," she flattered, blinking prettily.

Doctor Ishay puffed out his chest, and then had to tug the front of his tunic down over his round little belly. "Yes, of course, Nurse Schaffer. Come and sit down," he suggested, gesturing to two chairs sitting side by side in front of his desk at the far end of sickbay.

"Now," he smiled encouragingly after they'd settled, his knees accidentally brushing against hers as he leaned toward her attentively. "What seems to be the problem?"

"It's Mr Doral."

Paulla studied her hands that she clutched tightly in her lap.

"He's acting inappropriately?" Ishay asked, shuffling his chair away from Paulla slightly so that his knees no longer made contact with hers.

"No, no," she quickly assured him. "It's...He's..." She looked up, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "I don't know how to explain it! I think he's...unhinged."

"Unhinged?"

"Yes. He keeps telling me his wife has been killed. Then, he tells me she's alive. I keep telling him that of course she's alive, but..."

"What does his wife say?"

"She just laughs it off. But I'm concerned, doctor. He's highly erratic. He was screaming in our corridor and thumping on the door of another cabin only this afternoon!"

"Well, it's all bad business if he's disturbing other guests. What was his mood before the cruise?"

"I don't know. I was only employed by the Dorals right before the cruise. The previous nurse left very abruptly."

"Mmm..." Doctor Ishay thought for a moment. "Do you think we should try and contact her? Mr Doral's odd temper could be quite normal."

Paulla bit her lower lip. "Perhaps," she agreed slowly. She edged her chair closer so that their knees bumped again. "Or perhaps we could administer a sedative in the meantime?"

~~AV~~

Bill glared at Jake in disgust. The dog was hopeless as a watchdog. They've been caught by another woman-this time, Layne Ishay.

The poised young woman, in a neat dark green suit, crossed her arms and looked at Laura with disbelief. "No, ma'am, I don't know a Deborah Carstairs."

"Well then," Laura said breezily, taking a step toward the door.

Layne neatly cut her off. "You know, it's not uncommon for people to make excuses when they wish to consult me. They're embarrassed-"

Bill and Laura exchanged quick glances.

"Sure-" said Bill slowly, easing toward the door as well.

But Laura was caught up in the fire of injustice. She wanted to assure Layne Ishay that _they_ would not have been embarrassed to visit a female doctor.

"You're right," she admitted. "We didn't tell you the whole truth. Your father sent us to see you."

Shock registered on her face. "He did?"

"Yes." Laura nodded vigorously. "He thought perhaps you could offer a second opinion for my husband's illness."

Layne gave a dignified little snort. "He must have been utterly blotto when he said that!"

Confused, Laura gave her a vague smile "Well, perhaps. But my husband is quite ill."

The doctor looked the stoic-faced man standing before her. "Would you like to lie down to discuss this?" She motioned to a chaise lounge by the porthole.

"That's okay," rumbled Bill, not sure if he wanted to play along with this scheme Laura seemed to be hatching.

Laura blinked, confused. "Mr Adams would need to lie down for your assessment? It's his head."

"Yes, I understand it's in his head. He doesn't have to lie down but most people find it more relaxing."

"You sure you're a doctor?" Bill asked, a heavy frown creasing his forehead.

Layne laughed softly. "My father likes to tell all and sundry that I'm a witchdoctor, but I assure you Mr Adams that a psychoanalyst is just as skilled as a general practitioner."

"A psychoanalyst," Bill repeated slowly, understanding, then horror coming onto his features.

Layne gave them an irritated look. "What did my father tell you? He sent you here as some kind of joke, didn't he? You're not ill at all."

"No! I mean, yes!" Laura immediately felt contrite. "Mr Adams has amnesia. He received a bump to the head during the storm last night, and now he can't remember the last three months of our lives."

Layne nodded sympathetically. "I could definitely help in this situation. This isn't simply a physical injury you're sporting Mr Adams, but a mental incapacity."

"I can show you the physical evidence on the crown of my head that would dispute that statement, madam!" Bill blustered.

Layne ignored him and turned back to Laura to explain.

"It's been my experience that bumps to the head are merely the catalyst to the patient suppressing their memory. There is something in Mr Adams' past that he obviously doesn't want to remember, and he's deliberately repressing it."

"We thought perhaps Mr Adams had seen something last night that was upsetting," Laura confided. She reached to take Bill's hand, but it was closed in a tight fist.

"Perhaps," Layne agreed. "But I would be more inclined to believe that the event Mr Adams is trying to forget occurred just after his last memory. There must be a reason why he's choosing that particular three months to forget and not anything beforehand. Did anything significant happen around that time?"

"According to my wife, a lotta significant things happened," Bill rasped, exasperated by this woman's probing.

"Then, I think you should explore that event," Layne went on, oblivious to the distressed look on Laura's face. "That event could hold the key. It sounds like it's something Mr Adams doesn't want to remember."

"Thank you, doctor." Bill grabbed Laura's arm and tugged her toward the cabin's door. "We'll think about what you said."

Laura murmured her thanks as well but couldn't meet the doctor's speculative gaze.

They walked back along the ship's corridors in silence, both engrossed in their thoughts.

"Do you want to go and see the third woman?" Laura asked, her voice hollow.

Bill pulled out his watch from his pocket and checked the time. "No, why don't we go and get ready for this dance thing."

"Sure," Laura replied, automatically following Bill along the route to their cabin.

They fell silent again until they entered their cabin and Bill headed straight for the drinks' cabinet.

"Her father is right; she's full of mumbo-jumbo," Bill asserted as he took a long gulp of the fiery whiskey. "That analyst claptrap is pure voodoo. I'm sure she heard you're loaded and wants a new patient to bill."

"Sure," Laura agreed in that same distracted tone. "I'm going to bathe before the dance," she announced, throwing off her shoes and heading toward the bathroom.

After entering the bath, she closed the door and Bill heard the distinct click of its lock.


	11. Chapter 11

Peter Laird and his detective sergeant looked at the woman's body, both smoking like chimneys to cover the odor of a corpse which had been in the water for several days. Her features had been eaten away, so no help there for identifying the body. Her long dark hair was matted and filled with sea algae, making her appear like a perverse mermaid. She was nude.

"Don't think she was a jumper," said the police doctor, a tall, craven man hunched over the morgue slab. "Most people don't remove their clothing to jump off the Golden Gate Bridge."

"No clothes have been discovered by the bridge staff," confirmed Laird.

"The cliffs by Sutro Heights?" suggested the Chief. "A lot of suicides go off there."

"We'll have the boys search for her clothes," said Laird, pulling out his notepad.

"Any distinguishing marks?" asked Tyrol.

"A pretty interesting mole on her back," said the doctor, rolling the body over to show them. The swollen flesh made an unsettling undulation, worrying the detectives. They took a step back.

Laird made a quick sketch on his notepad. "We'll check the missing persons reports for Northern California," he said, looking away.

"Maybe she came off a boat," said Tyrol. "I'll broadcast a report to all ships that left San Francisco in the last two days."

"I'll do a more thorough examination to rule out jumping from height such as the bridges or cliffs," said the doctor. "There's evidence of blunt trauma-" He pointed out blotching on the body's skin. "But I'll need to determine if it was post-mortem or the cause of death. I'll do a toxicology screening as well."

The morgue doors flew open as a gurney was pushed in. "Got another one," announced a sleepy-eyed orderly. "Dead woman, fished out of the bay. This one went off in a car."

The detectives exchanged intrigued looks. Laird grabbed the sheet covering the body. "Let's have a look," he said.

He flung back the sheet and glanced down. His face went completely white and he slumped to the floor in shock, Tyrol grabbing his slack body.

~~AV~~

Laura waited for Bill to finish in the bathroom, puffing nervously on her cigarette. The door opened and he came out, self-consciously tugging on his ivory dinner jacket.

"Don't know about this monkey suit," he rumbled.

She took in the sight of him and wished he would wear evening dress every day. She loved the way the jacket lay on his strong shoulders, and the black tie framed his tough guy face...

"Bill, did you shave?" He always shaved again in the evenings so his face would be silky smooth for their love making.

He rubbed his jaw. "Yeah."

"It looks like you missed your upper lip," she said, dread beginning to form.

"Oh yeah, I left that. I'm thinkin' about growing a mustache." He looked at her suspiciously. "Can't think why I shaved it off; had it for years."

Laura took a deep, controlled breath. She rose from her chair. "You were ready for a change," she said tartly.

She swept past him in a cloud of intoxicating scent and his nose twitched. She was wearing one of those complicated evening gowns he'd only seen woman wear in the flicks or glossy magazines at the newsstand. The skirt was shimmering blue satin. With each step, a slit revealed her sleek leg and silver high-heeled sandal. To his disappointment, the top was a confection of starched white chiffon, with large petals of fabric framing her face, but buttoned up to her chin.

He put his hand in the small of her back and led her out of the room.

They entered the ballroom. Befitting the theme of moonlight sonata, the room was only lit by the chandeliers and tabletop candles, the ceiling bathed in deep blue light and the walls hung with dark silk. The highly polished black marble floor made it appear as though the couples were dancing in the night's sky. The large band was playing bright, jazzy tunes. A steward darted forward to escort them to a table on the edge of the dance floor. Once seated, Laura began to unbutton her top.

"Could you help me slip this off?" she asked. "It's so warm in here."

Feeling over-heated in the closed room, Bill grumbled to himself about women getting to take clothing off and no one thought a thing-

The top slipped off her shoulders. Underneath, the gown's bodice was nothing more than a two strips of satin meeting behind her neck, leaving her back bare and a deep valley between her breasts. Standing behind her chair, he had a very good view, seeing the smattering of freckles disappear somewhere on her belly. Her pale skin glowed in the dimness.

"Thank you," she said demurely as he dropped the white cover-up over the back of the chair.

"Sure, sure," he blathered. Looking around, he saw the waiter bearing down on their table. There was no way he was letting that pup get a free show!

"Let's dance," he said abruptly.

"Of course." She rose into his arms.

When his hand settled on her back and met warm skin, he realized that this may have not been the best solution to the problem. His nose buried in her perfumed hair. He cleared his throat, hoping it would clear his mind as well. In the dark room, the other couples melted away and it felt as though they were the only two people in the world...He pressed closer, feeling her hips move with his...

"Bill," she said urgently.

"Yeah?" he rumbled. Was she thinking what he was thinking?

"Is that the Brigadier?"

He glanced in the direction she was looking.

"Don't look!" she hissed.

Sighing in exasperation, he turned her so he could just look over her shoulder. A ramrod stiff man was marching along the dance floor's perimeter. His silver hair was brushed straight up into an indignant pompadour, and his waxed mustache bristled. He was wearing a tweed shooting jacket, despite the heat and formal occasion, with several regimental pins and medals pinned to the breast.

"It's got to be," agreed Bill.

They fox trotted across the floor, following the older man.

The Brigadier stopped at a table. "I say, are you Miss Hargrove, of the Dorset Hargroves?" he said drolly.

The rather plain young woman, seated alone and watching the dancers with yearning in her gaze, blinked in surprise. With a sing-song Midwest accent, she said, "Why no. Dorset, England?" she asked.

"Yes, yes." The military man slipped into a chair at her table. "I could have sworn you were Cecilia, the beauty of the family. Such a regal bearing you have," he oozed.

She tittered in excitement.

Bill murmured in Laura's ear, "So he's a lady killer too?"

"Is he literally?" questioned Laura.

Seeing her meaning, Bill steered her to an empty table nearby. Noting this, a waiter scooped up her cover-up and clutch purse and delivered them to their new table, as well as presenting two menus.

Thanking him, Laura delved into her bag for her cigarette case and Bill lit two for them while they looked over the dining options.

After handing back the menus and giving their orders quickly, Bill leaned closer to Laura, his eyes still on the man who shot him. "I checked the manifest and the Brigadier is traveling alone," he said, low.

"Perhaps his shipboard activities are broader than trap shooting," suggested Laura.

"Yeah, shipboard romances are pretty common. No one knows you, you part ways at the destination-"

"Do you have experience with such encounters?" Laura said archly.

"No, no. Just seen it a million times. A woman's constraints are loosened on the ocean. I think it has something to do with the ship's motion." Bill's gaze slid between her breasts again, along the bare skin.

"I see." Laura smiled her thanks to the waiter when a frosty cocktail glass was placed before her. "And men don't need constraints?"

"It's more a case that they don't want them," Bill blustered, his hand going to his tightening bow tie.

Her speculative eyes swept over him. "Really? That hasn't been my recent experience."

He reddened. Was she questioning his manhood? He was trying to be honorable, dammit! She was a stranger to him, and he wasn't the sort of man to treat a lady like a shore leave pickup-

He was distracted from his brooding by a man speaking with one of the stewards in the doorway of the dining room; a wheelchair by his side.

"Your friends," he noted to Laura.

Aaron Doral began gesturing wildly and yelling at the steward acting as a maitre d'. Bill couldn't hear the man's gripe, but several more stewards rushed over, their manner placating. Doral's wife was making no comment. Instead she kept her head dipped low. A blue fascinator and its long veil was perched atop her dark curls, covering whether or not her expression was as irritated as her husband's.

"Now might not be a good time to catch up," Laura commented. She had enough problems without trying to keep a social smile on for a conversation with that unhappy couple.

Her gaze returned to the Brigadier. He'd shifted his chair closer to the giggling young woman.

"Let's say the last single woman on the list is missing. The Brigadier appears very forward. Perhaps he struck up an instant acquaintance with her." She took an agitated puff on her cigarette. "Damn, I wish I'd been paying more attention at the Aloha Dinner!"

Bill glared at the other man. "He chats up some innocent young woman and forces his attentions upon her-"

Their eyes met. Laura nodded. "And something goes terribly wrong. He must get rid of the body."

"He travels on this route often, the captain said," pointed out Bill. "He'd be familiar with the ship and as a war veteran, wouldn't be intimidated by the raging storm."

"We need to get into his cabin now," hissed Laura, snatching up her clutch purse.

In her mad dash to continue with their sleuthing, Laura never saw the waiter making his way past their table, balancing the ship's signature dessert on his silver platter.

Rum had been splashed across high pillows of meringue and set alight to make a spectacular display in the darkened room.

Laura squealed as the flames danced in her face.

Bill jumped up. "Laura!"

The tray wobbled precariously. The waiter managed to quickly skip backwards and avoid contact, but was leaning dangerously over another table, causing all the ladies seated there to scream in terror.

"Sorry, Mrs Adams!" the waiter panted.

Brigadier Blackthorne's head snapped around at the name. Even with his poor vision, he could make out a bandage on the hand of the man rushing to his wife's aid. He gaped in horror.

The waiter, triumphant that he'd remained upright, took a step forward, and slipped on the silk napkin Laura had dropped from her lap when she stood.

"Whoa!" the hapless young man cried as his feet flew up from under him on the polished marble floor. The flaming Bombe Alaska went airborne. Bill snatched Laura and pulled her to him just as it hit their table. Bits of burning meringue flew everywhere.

Laura shrieked in shock as hot globs stuck to her bare back and arms.

Holding her close, Bill saw the Brigadier staring and glared back. Aaron Doral had come close and when Bill looked at him, he beat a retreat, Blackthorne hot on his heels, leaving the object of his affections confused.

"Let me take you back to the cabin," Bill said to Laura.

"The Brigadier-" she said.

"Has gone back to his own cabin," he told her.

Waving aside the blathering waiters and stewards, Bill cut them all off. "We're leaving. Cancel our order. Thanks."

While they hurried from the ballroom, Doral and Paulla watched them go.

"Accidents tend to happen at sea," mused Paulla.

"And they do seem to find the Adams," agreed her companion.

"Mr and Mrs Doral, your table is ready," said the harried maitre d'.

Giving each other pleased smiles that their ruse was working, they followed him to the prime table Doral had demanded.

As soon as they returned to the cabin, Bill tossed aside Laura's cover-up and purse. "Let's have a look at you," he said. "You should take off that gown."

Chilled by the walk, Laura clutched her arms, and her hands stuck to her sugar-covered skin. Struck by the ridiculous, she giggled.

Shedding his jacket and loosening his tie, Bill shook his head. "You could be hurt," he chided.

"I'm not burned. Just wounded my dignity," she said, her eyes sparkling. "Thank goodness we weren't home in the city. I'd be in all the papers tomorrow. _Heiress's night a bomb!_ "

"What a life," he muttered, even as he inspected her back for meringue. He swept her hair aside to check her pale, freckled skin and watched the goose pimples rise on fair flesh.

He gave into an overwhelming impulse, one he'd had fighting since he'd removed her cover-up earlier, and pressed his warm mouth to one blotch of meringue, licking it off. He liked that little moan he heard in the back of her throat and the way she trembled under his ministrations as he moved onto the next glob.

Despite her shaking, the room suddenly felt very warm and his usually meticulous thought process became scattered.

 _Shouldn't do this...Not right...She's my wife though...Not fair to her...She deserved the man who loved her...Damn, the scent of her, not her perfume, but her..._

His hands spread across her back, his thumbs kneading her vertebrae. He noticed a speck of white cream on her shoulder and leaned down to lap at it eagerly.

"You've developed a sweet tooth, Mr Adams," she said in that throaty tone that made his whole body twitch. That first night, when they'd met, she'd called him 'sir' in that exact tone and he knew he would never be free of her.

Only it wasn't the first night they'd met. This wouldn't be the first time they made love for her.

Desperate to know what to expect, he asked: "Was it okay?"

Her head lolled back against his shoulder. "Mmm?"

"Our first time? These things aren't always great." For some reason, he didn't want to believe it could be this easy-his fingers undid the clasp behind her neck, releasing her bodice so he could cradle her bare breasts-and feel this right.

She gave a husky chuckle. "It was okay, Bill."

"Yeah?" He buried his face in the crook of her neck.

Pushing back against his groin until he couldn't hold in a pained groan, she laughed again.

"It was more than okay, darling," she assured him, her voice nearly breathless as she found the slim zipper of her gown, releasing the dress to fall in a puddle at her feet

He stared over her shoulder at his dark hands filled with her white breasts, her bright nipples peeking through his fingers, then down to her pair of black satin panties and garter belt holding up sleek black stockings. Her delicate feet were still encased in her silver high-heeled slippers.

His need was so great that he found himself unashamedly rubbing against the curve of her hips. His mind was empty of thought, leaving only erotic images, much too passionate for a lady such as this. "I never rushed things?" he croaked out. "Went too fast for you?"

Her laugh jiggled her full breasts, making him even more light-headed, so faint he almost didn't notice her reaching back to undo his belt and pants' fly.

"No! I was the one who had to hurry things along!" she informed him smugly.

Shock made his hands drop away from her body, earning him a growl of displeasure from Laura. "Whaddaya mean?" he asked.

She finally turned to him, baring her body to him with no modesty. Draping her arms around his neck, she kissed the tip of his chin.

"I had to seduce you. You didn't want to make love to me," she explained blandly as she nibbled along his jaw. She unbuttoned his shirt, squeezing his thick chest muscles through his undershirt, but he was too horrified to notice.

"You're telling me I've become a wimp somewhere along the line?" What in the world had happened in the last three months?

"Not a wimp, darling. I just interpreted it that you were being a gentleman," she said, slightly doubtful sounding, causing his temper to flare.

He glared at her through narrowed eyes. "I've got a second chance, and I'm going to do it right this time," he announced.

She raised one, challenge-filled eyebrow and it was like tossing a match into a tinderbox.

With a growl, he hoisted her up and thumped her against the cabin wall, causing all the pictures to rattle.

Their mouths latched together and her hands gripped his hair, holding him fast to her. As though he had any thought of letting go...His hands held her thighs open as he thrust against her, a mute action with their clothing.

Laura whimpered against his invading tongue as she fumbled for his pants, pushing them open and down. Blood roared in his ears. He's only wanted to show her who was boss, then move to the bed for some dignified lovemaking, but she wanted _this, now._

She grasped his length, stroking it expertly, with a firm grip just the way he liked it. Carolanne had never looked it, let alone touched it...He was panting frantically, feeling his control fraying.

 _Now, now..._ He wrenched at her panties, the tearing of fabric loud in the room punctuated only by their heavy breathing. Quickly, he checked to see if she was disgusted by his behavior, but her usually pale eyes were dark with passion, her lips swollen from their kisses. Her fist twisted around him one last time before she released his erection to hook her legs behind his torso.

"God, Bill...Please..." she moaned.

He didn't have to be told twice.

Thrusting up, he found his target on the first try. As she tightened around him, he had to still for a moment and fight for control. Supporting her bottom with one hand, he cradled her face with the other.

"Is it always like this?" he asked, sounding shocked.

Laura had closed her eyes, ready for Bill's usual deep thrusts, the sensations already riding over her like waves. Suddenly self-conscious with his question, she looked at him, unsure. She put a shaking hand to his cheek, mirroring his gesture. "Yes," she told him simply.

That grin of his, that grin that made her melt every time, spread across his face.

"I'm one lucky bastard then," he said as he pinned her to the wall with the first piston of his hips.

"Damn right," she panted out, managing to find bare skin under his shirts to lightly rake her nails across.

He hissed with pained delight. Her silk stockings were slick in his hands, but this daring act, as though they both may tumble over some crevasse at any moment, only accelerated his want. It obviously excited her as well. Her heels dug into his haunches, urging him on. Surely she didn't want...He thrust harder, faster and her head thrashed against the wall.

"Yes, Bill! More!" She pushed his shirts up higher, so their bare chests could rub together with each slapping together of their bodies.

He wasn't sure if he had been an accommodating lover before, but he sure as hell wanted to follow an order now. He bore down, increasing his speed and depth. She responded by yanking him to her and sinking her teeth into his neck, right at his thundering pulse.

He thought he'd explode right then, but he managed to rein his release back. But he had to do something, _now._ Tilting the angle of her hips, he brought her clitoris in contact with his pelvic bone and ground into her.

For a terrifying moment, he thought she'd stopped breathing. Grasping his head, she held him close so he could watch her expression soften and hear her gentle cries of rapture. She sagged on his wide shoulders, and her impossibly tight grip around his surging length gave him only one route of escape. She rode the storm of his own release, her sweet laughter underscoring his triumphant growls.

Planting one hand on the wall, somehow he managed to support them as Laura slid down his body, giggling breathlessly.

Still, Bill wasn't sure what to say. She was hardly some Marseilles harlot to take against a back alley wall...Then he saw her torn undergarments which he'd tossed aside in his flurry, and her tattered stockings.

"Oh, baby, I'm sorry-" He stopped himself. "You don't like me to call you baby," he announced, thrilled beyond reason to remember something for certain.

She took his face in her hands again and kissed him soundly. "I knew that would jar your memory," she said saucily. "I'll have you remembering every minute soon enough."

Now it was his turn to raise his brows.

She just grinned back. "Get out of these clothes, you silly man," she said, tugging at his disheveled suit.

He stripped quickly, folding his garments with military precision. "You too," he fussed. "Let me get your nightgown-"

She placed a hand on his bare shoulder, pulling him back. "No, I want to feel all of you tonight," she said huskily. Furrowing her brow, she placed a gentle kiss on the red welt forming where she bit his neck. "I'm a bad girl," she murmured, licking it too.

Bill's mind whirled. His body couldn't respond, so the blood went straight to his head. As he steered her toward the bed, he rained kisses on her body; the point of her shoulder, the top of her breast, her earlobe.

"I don't care what that voodoo doctor says. There's no way I'd be blocking out a minute of this. And not only this, Laura," he said earnestly as he turned back the bedding and urged her to lay down. "I like you, Laura." He knelt beside the bed and nibbled across her belly, causing her breathing to hitch. "You're funny, sweet, intelligent..." he murmured on her warm skin.

She gripped his hair, stilling his explorations. "I''m saying it first this time. I love you, Bill Adams."

Puzzled, he looked up at her, resting his cheek under her breasts. "What do you mean?"

"I-I didn't have the courage to tell you that I loved you." Even now, she was blushing and staring up at the ceiling for her confession. Her voice caught. "Not-not until I nearly lost you. I won't make that mistake again."

He circled her nipple with his fingertip, giving into his inner-teenage boy impulse to touch, touch, touch.

"You didn't need to say it, Laura. I could see it the first moment I laid eyes on you-" He stumbled. "I mean-"

She laid her finger on his lips, silencing him. "I know what you mean, and it's all right."

Tugging up into the bed beside her, she tossed the covers over them and snuggled onto his bare chest. "Actually, it's better than all right. It's wonderful to know that you love me, that I love you, no matter what life we're in."

"I didn't tell you-"

Resting her chin on his pectoral, she looked up at him. "Yes you did, darling."

He brushed the wild curls off her face, tracing her cheek slowly down to her lips. She kissed his knuckle.

"Yeah, I guess I did," he rasped. "I guess I do love you, Laura."


	12. Chapter 12

Stirring, Bill didn't want to wake. He was having the best dream. First he'd had that crazy dream with the beautiful woman, taking her against the wall, now this...

He groaned and cracked his eyelids-his eyes snapped open. It wasn't a dream.

Laura lay between his legs, her long hair draped across his thighs, while her mouth was...

He groaned again as her mouth smoothly took in the part of his body that had awakened first. The little Captain was on duty.

He swept her curls back and squeezed her shoulder. "Laura-" He didn't even know what he wanted to say. She shouldn't be doing this, not a classy lady like her.

Her hand joined her mouth and she started doing something that made him arch off the bed with a loud moan. He'd never had an experience like this-or perhaps he had, considering how his body was eagerly reacting. He was regretting his memory loss more each moment.

He had to follow his subconscious instincts. "Laura, I want-" he said urgently.

Thankfully, she seemed to know what he wanted even if he didn't.

She rose above him and braced her hands on each side of his head. "Good morning," she drawled before kissing the tip of his nose.

He tried to gasp something intelligent, but then his attention was distracted by her warm, morning-soft breasts swinging above his face. He caught one with his mouth, causing her to hum in response.

"No, no," she chided him. "I was going somewhere, and it wasn't here."

She straddled his hips and easily slid down his waiting erection. "Right on target," she gloated.

Stunned, Bill gazed up at her. The room was bright with light coming through the white sheer drapes over the glass doors to the veranda. This! In broad daylight! No shame at all! Gloriously naked, she smiled down at him, then raised an eyebrow.

"Oh, sorry," he said and surged up into her, causing her head to loll back.

Laura couldn't hold his gaze, with its wonder and excitement of these 'new' experiences still there. Their bodies knew each other, but she could see that Bill couldn't believe this was all his, any time he wanted it. She frowned.

He instantly stilled. "Am I hurting you?" he asked, concerned.

She looked down at him, smiling at his sweetness. Tracing his worried mouth with her fingertip, she shook her head. "You could never hurt me."

The way his thick brows beetled was comical, and she had to laugh. Beginning to rise and fall on his length, she promised him, "I can take it. All of it."

He narrowed his eyes as though she'd challenged him. His fingers sought and found the nub under her curls. Watching her expression intently as it changed from humor to soft desire, he increased the pressure as she rode him faster and faster.

She gripped his arms until her nails bit into his muscles. Her teeth worried at her lower lip. He grinned; she was trying to slow the inevitable. He turned his knuckle to her swollen flesh and got just the reaction he wanted.

Her body went rigid and she shuddered and shimmied, calling his name. Now it was his turn to bite down hard on his lip, trying to hold back as she tightened around him.

When her limbs relaxed and she drew herself upright to gaze down at him through half-closed lids, he put his fingers to his mouth, meaning to wet them but found himself drinking in her taste as well. Her face changed to surprised, then the desire returned.

His wet fingers returned, this time to gently work her over-sensitive clitoris. "No, I won't hurt you," he promised.

"Oh God, Bill," she panted. "I can't..."

"Yes, you can." He just knew, somehow he knew. Rolling them, he pushed her legs up to his chest and as she gasped in shock, he bent to his task and pounded into her.

Her heels kicked at his ribs, urging him on. There was no pain from his fall, no shortness of breath, only his mission-make her scream this time.

Her gasps became sobs, then rose to babbling admonishments, urging him on.

"Full steam ahead," he grunted, jerking his hips as fast as he could.

Laura's moans turned to giggles. She barely gasped out, "Oh Captain, my Captain!" before coming again.

"Dammit, Laura, I'm trying to be serious," he chided her but couldn't stay irritated; the wave of his release roared in his ears, lifted him, he was floating...Then pounded him face down into the mattress, breathless beside his still laughing wife.

~~AV~~

Peter grubbed out his cigarette and lit another one without looking. He stared hollow-eyed across his smoke-filled living room. It was cold and dark with the drapes closed. The doorbell rang endlessly in the distance, but he ignored it. Then the visitor knocked.

He inhaled deeply and reached for his whiskey bottle. It was empty.

The front door opened and he heard the tap of heels on the floor.

"Mr Laird," Emily said tentatively. "Your doorbell appears to be broken."

"It's not," he said rudely.

After setting her casserole dish on a side table, she sank into an armchair facing the despondent man.

"I...I'm so sorry," she whispered.

At her desk that morning, Emily had been browsing the early edition, when Billy Keikeya's byline caught her eye: _Investigation into Mystery Death Leads to Tragedy._

She'd scanned the article in horror. Peter Laird had been at the police morgue, gathering evidence in the death of an unidentified woman when another body had been brought in-that of his wife Marie. She'd been driving down a hill when her brakes had failed and her car had gone into the Bay.

Emily had immediately begged Mrs Adams' cook for a casserole from the icebox, and had taken a cab to his home. But now that she was here, she didn't really know what to do. Finally she said, "I'll put this in the freezer," and hurried to the kitchen with the dish.

When she returned, she dared to sit beside Peter. "Where are the children, Mr Laird?" she asked.

"With their grandmother."

"Shouldn't they be here, in their home?" She started to take his hand but then quickly retracted her hand when his closed into a fist.

"Don't want them to see me like this."

"They've already lost their mother," she pointed out. "They can't lose you."

Silent, he sucked on his cigarette.

Emily took a deep breath, and after coughing, forced herself to tell him something. "When my husband died, I wanted to crawl away and die too, but I couldn't. I had to be there for my girls."

He finally looked at her with red-rimmed eyes. "They should see this? I'm supposed to be the bedrock of this family, not some sniveling sop."

Balling her fists on her lap, Emily shook her head to fight the tears. "They want their Daddy, that's what they want."

He buried his face in his hands and the sobs finally escaped.

She dared to lay her hand on his back, rubbing it soothingly. "Go get your children, Mr Laird."

Standing, she stared toward the kitchen as though it was battlefield. "And I'll make some lunch."

~~AV~~

The Adams looked both ways down the corridor after their knock on Joan Smith's cabin door went unanswered. Bill took out the pass key and opened the door.

"Still don't think we should have brought that mutt," he grumbled as he held the door open for Laura and Jake.

"Hush," chided Laura. "His feelings will be hurt."

"Then he should do a better job as a guard dog." Bill flipped on the light.

"But he's a herding breed, darling," pointed out Laura.

Bill shot her a withering look, but when she smirked back, he gave into the impulse to give her a quick kiss.

"Let's get to work," she said briskly, having won that point.

They began examining the room. Jake sniffed around, growling at the back of his throat.

"Sit, boy," Bill told him. "And hush."

Looking up at his master with reproachful dark eyes, Jake lay down by the door, but his shiny teeth still flashed as he kept giving a low growl.

Shaking his head, Bill resumed his search.

After a few minutes, Laura made an observation. "This doesn't add up."

Bill put down the magazine he'd been flipping through. "What do you mean?"

"This doesn't look like the cabin of a nurse." Laura lifted the silver-backed hairbrush from the vanity table. "This is a very expensive set."

"Perhaps a gift from a grateful patient," suggested Bill.

She moved to the closet. "And these frocks are much too frivolous for a nurse as well."

"She's on a luxury cruise. Surely she wants to look nice," argued Bill.

Laura frowned and put her hands on her hips. "There's no uniform in there as well."

"This could be a vacation, not a transport to a new position."

But he had to agree that their discoveries weren't adding up. "The bed's been made with hospital corners, yet the breakfast tray is still here. If the steward had cleaned, surely he would have taken this." He lifted the cover and looked at the barely touched food.

Laura came to his side. "I've read that in a mystery, Bill," she said excitedly. "The murderer ate the victim's breakfast so it would appear that he had not died when he did."

"So you think that the Brigadier's faking that Nurse Smith is still alive?" he said doubtfully.

"We need to investigate his cabin as well," she said, tugging Bill toward the door. "If there's nothing there, we can keep checking back in this cabin to see if Miss Smith is really alive, just for our peace of mind."

Bill locked the door. "We only have another day at sea. If we're going to solve this, we need to hurry up."

Laura looked at his determined face, unease coming over her. "I want you to be well, Bill. More than I want to know who the dead woman is. Once we're in Hawaii, we can turn that over to the authorities."

He stopped and drew her close. He tried to give her a reassuring smile. "Don't worry about me. I'll be fine." Looping his arm through hers, he started them off again. "But I'm just afraid once we've docked and everyone scatters, we'll lose the killer."

~~AV~~

Closing the Brigadier's cabin door behind him, Aaron Doral nevertheless kept an ear cocked for a heavy boot step outside. He'd left Blackthorne in the lounge, enjoying his first nip of the day. It had been easy enough to pick his pocket for his room key.

Still, he had to work quickly. Moving to the closet, he peeked inside. Doral was dressed for deck shuffleboard in yellow and lime-green checked pants, with a breezy lemon-colored shirt, but the shuffleboard cue in his hand, if examined closely, would be found to be cracked and blood-stained.

He stood it up in the back of the closet. With any luck, the Adams' suspicions would lead them to this bumbling old fool.

The glint of something metal on the closet's upper shelf caught his eye.

Reaching up, he touched cold steel. Smiling, he brought a handgun down and slipped it into his pocket.

He scurried to the door. Peeping out, he saw no one. But when he closed the door behind him, he heard a dog's sharp bark.

Jake, coming through the doorway from the outer deck, stretched his leash taut when he spotted Doral. He began barking frantically.

Laura Adams was dragged around the corner on the end of the lead.

Her husband was close behind, admonishing the dog. "Dammit, you mutt, behave!"

Breaking free from Laura's grasp, Jake loped after Doral. Still feeling the sting of the bite on his leg, the man took off with the dog in hot pursuit.

Laura tottered on her heels. "Bill, stop him!"

"I'm tryin'," Bill puffed as he ran and with frustration, watched the flash of Jake's black tail flick around the corner of the corridor.

He came around to see Aaron Doral cowering by his cabin door, Jake nipping at his heels.

"Jake!" Bill bellowed. "Down boy!"

The dog, still snarling, backed away from Doral and lay flat on the deck, staring the man down.

Bill grabbed his loose leash. "I'm sorry, Doral. This dog's been a bit crazy ever since I knocked my head...I think," he ended, confused.

Aaron scratched at his door, and Paulla yanked it open. "What the hell-" She spotted Bill.

"Oh sir," she simpered, "I didn't realize it was you, sir."

"Let me in!" Doral yelped, pushing her aside.

Bill tried to apologize again, but only got the cabin door slammed in his face.

On the walk back to the Brigadier's cabin, he soundly scolded his pet, but at the same time, found the whole episode rather odd. True, Aaron Doral was obviously a creep, but unless the dog had a screw loose, something else must be going on to make him behave this way.

"Say, has this dog always been so bad?" he asked Laura when he joined her.

She patted Jake on the head. "Not in the least. The night you saved me from the muggers, he was right in there helping."

Bill fished the pass key out of his pocket. "Wasn't that Doral fella a horse trainer or something?"

"Yes, he was," said Laura as they slipped into the room, locking the door behind them.

"Shouldn't be scared of dogs..." muttered Bill, perplexed.

"Oh no," said Laura, "he was the huntsman for the foxhound pack in the Woodside hunt."

"Stay," Bill commanded Jake. The dog obediently sat by the door, staring at it.

They began to search. The room smelled strongly of cheap pipe tobacco, sandalwood soap, boot polish and stale whiskey. They found evidence of all these activities.

Laura peeped into the closet. "Bill!" she hissed urgently. "Look at this!" She held the shuffleboard cue gingerly with two fingers.

"That's your hair." She pointed to the grey-black strands caught in the cracked wood.

"No wonder my head hurts," he grumbled, rubbing the spot.

"We must take this to the captain immediately!" she said.

"No," he said slowly, looking around. "Let's go to our cabin first, talk about this."

~~AV~~

Doral gulped straight Scotch, his eyes watering at the burn.

"What the hell happened?" Paulla asked, her hands on her hips.

"That damn dog remembers me," he hissed.

"You're crazy-"

"He does," he insisted. He took a step toward the nurse. "We have to kill him!"

"You may recall we're having little success killing anyone, Aaron," she drawled.

He ignored her jab. "Did you get the poison?"

"Yes." Paulla had debased herself with Doctor Ishay to obtain sedatives, claiming Doral's visions of his wife made him unable to sleep. After slobbering all over her, the drunken doctor had given her plenty to get the job done.

"Then we'll put it in a hunk of meat and leave it for the dog to find," Doral said excitedly.

Paulla sighed. "What about Mr Adams? He must be killed before he remembers what happened."

"Yes, yes," muttered Doral. "That too."

~~AV~~

Once they entered their cabin, Laura rounded about to address her husband. "Bill, this is the evidence!" She motioned to the cue which Bill set against the wall. "The Brigadier attacked you!"

Taking out his cigarette case and lighter, Bill sank into a chair. "Did he? Say you belted someone on the noggin with a stick while on a boat. Wouldn't you just toss it overboard? Why take it back to your cabin and hide it?"

Pacing, Laura took off her jacket and tossed it aside. "He planned to use it again?"

"Come 'ere," Bill commanded, patting his knee. He put out his cigarette and held out his arms in welcome.

Sighing in vexation, Laura took his offer and folded herself onto his lap. She leaned on his sturdy shoulder.

He wrapped his arm around her. "And if he threw the body off the upper deck, how did he get behind me to give me that rap?"

"But how did he come to have the weapon?" she asked, snuggling closer. This man was truly a distraction when she was trying to think.

"Someone wants a patsy, I'd say."

"So we're back to square one," she said, frustrated.

"It looks like it," he said. "We don't have a missing woman either."

"We need to check back and make sure Joan Smith is still alive."

"Maybe I didn't see anything that night," he mused. "Maybe I'm just losing my mind."

"Oh Bill, you're the sanest person I know." Laura tipped his head so she could meet his worried gaze. "Trust me."

"Maybe I just slipped in the rain after all." His fingertips ran up on and down the arm of her fine silk blouse.

"Then where did the memory of a falling woman come from?" she asked.

His lips clamped together and he buried his nose in her curls, breathing deeply. She could feel the tension course through his body.

Lacing her fingers through his hair, she held him close. Forcing on a cheerful tone, she said, "Let's forget about all this for now and join the fun. There're potato sack races this afternoon!"

He groaned. His fingers played with the pearl buttons down the front of her blouse. "I've got a better idea," he rumbled, "Let's spend the day in another type of sack."

Wiggling on his lap, Laura giggled. "Bill!"

Emboldened, he slid her skirt up, finding her warm, soft skin above the top of her stocking to stroke. "I believe I need to reciprocate for your gift this morning," he said huskily.

"It is our honeymoon after all..." Laura tugged his tie loose.

He gave her flank a light slap. "Exactly. Get up woman, and into that bed."

She stood, but examined him speculatively. "First, though, you need to shave."

"Shave?" He pretended to be confused.

"Yes, Bill, shave." She leaned over to murmur in his ear. "There's a reason you're clean-shaven, you see. I have very sensitive skin."

Staring down into her cleavage at her breasts spillng over the top of her bra, he could only nod. "Yes, Ma'am."

But as he trailed her to the bathroom, his mouth set in a determined line again. His wife deserved her husband and marriage back. He'd slipped while running after that damn dog in the rain; that's all. He decided to ignore the blood-stained shuffleboard cue leaning against the wall. The woman in his vision was just from his guilt over his role in Carolanne's death. But the past was the past, and it was time he started living this new present.

~~AV~~

Emily brushed little Patty's hair and watched Peter talk to his sons in a low tone across the room. Their faces, mirrors of their fathers, were somber but there were no tears.

She remembered how confused her own girls had been at Alex's death. They only knew their father wasn't there, but it took years for the true impact on their life to come out. The Lairds were just beginning a long, sad journey.

"I want black ribbons for my hair," announced Patty.

"Honey, don't you want some pretty pink ribbons?" said Emily.

"No, I want to show that my mummy is dead," said the little girl definitely.

Emily sighed and carefully tied black velvet ribbons around Patty's pale curls.

The doorbell rang. Dragging himself across the room as though the weight of the world was on his shoulders, Peter passed Emily without a word. She knew he wasn't being rude; he could only see into his empty heart in these first dark days.

He returned with his detective sergeant, Giles Tyrol.

"You remember Mrs Kowalski, the Adams' secretary," Peter said drearily. "From the Ellen Tigh murder case."

"Yes, I do," said Tyrol slowly, covering his shock at finding an attractive woman with Peter at this time. And not a family member, but a woman from a former case.

"I'm glad you've come," said Emily. "I'm sure you have news for Mr Laird."

Shaking himself out of his surprise, Tyrol nodded. "Yeah, Pete, let's take it outside."

"Please, stay here. I'll start dinner," said Emily, choosing to ignore the children's distressed faces. She knew she was a poor cook but surely there was a can of hash to open...Gathering them around her, she led them out of the room.

Chief fumbled for his crumbled cigarette pack. "How ya' doin', Pete?" he asked.

Laird lit his own cigarette. "I feel like hell."

"But it's good to have a friend come by to help," Chief said leadingly.

"You said you had news?"

"Yep. The report is in. Your car's brake lines were deliberately cut."

"What?" gasped Laird. "But who in the world would want to kill Marie? She was the sweetest woman on earth!"

Tyrol stared at the kitchen door. "Yeah, who'd want to kill a great gal like Marie?"


	13. Chapter 13

Giles Tyrol sat slumped at his desk, sifting through the papers on the blotter. None of it made him happy. An insurance policy on Marie Laird, purchased around the time Peter first met Emily Kowalski. The detective's bank statements, showing large deposits, far exceeding his paycheck.

As soon as the bank opened, Tyrol would find out who'd written the checks, but he felt as though he knew already.

Outside his ajar door, he noticed Cally, his secretary, wiggling out of her overcoat and hanging it by her desk.

"Say, Cally, come in here a moment," he called out.

She snatched up her dictation pad and popped through the door. "Yes, sir," she said saucily.

"I just wanted to ask you some questions," he said unhappily, pulling a cigarette from the crumpled pack lying by his cup of cold coffee.

She perched on the edge his desk, waiting expectantly as he lit his smoke.

He hated encouraging the flighty secretary's gossip, but he needed to know. "You said something about Detective Laird getting a lot of calls from a woman?"

She peeped over her shoulder at the open door. Leaning close so he could smell her drugstore cologne, she lowered her voice. "Oh yes, he's been getting loads of calls-"

"For how long?"

She tapped her chin with her bright red nail. "About two weeks, I guess. At first I just thought it was about a case, but it's always the same woman-"

Two weeks; the deposits started two weeks ago. "You're sure it wasn't Marie?"

"Oh no! I'd met Mrs Laird several times; I knew her voice."

"Could you tell anything about the woman from her voice?"

Cally crossed her legs, getting comfortable on the desk. "Well...She was a mature woman, I'd say. Not a chippy, you know?"

Tyrol tore his gaze away from her dimpled knees. "Yeah, I know what you mean." He cleared his throat. "Could you tell anything about her? An accent?"

Cally shook her head, bouncing her curls.

"Educated?"

She pursed her rouged lips, thinking. "Yes, I would say so. Sounded very classy, like one of those high-class secretaries that call from the law firms sometimes."

"And she never left a name, messages?"

"Oh no!" The curls jiggled again. "I'd ask and she'd say she'd call back."

"Thanks." Tyrol grubbed out his cigarette.

Seeing the interview was over, Cally jumped off the desk. "Do you want me to let you know when she calls again?"

The Chief escorted her to the doorway. "She won't be calling again," he told her.

He looked over to Laird's empty desk. Acting casual, he said, "I think that Jane Doe report is on Pete's desk. I'm going to look for it."

"I can find it," offered Cally, moving toward the detective's desk.

"I'll do it." He stepped in front of her. "Don't want you seeing anything you shouldn't."

As the secretary flounced over to the water cooler, Tyrol moved to his detective's desk. With professional speed, he flipped through the few papers in the in-boxes, then moved to the drawers. In the top drawer, among the pens and pencils, he found a matchbox. The Shady Trees Motel in Palo Alto.

He slipped it in his pocket. He knew Laird had had no case that far south; it was outside their jurisdiction. Glancing at the clock, he saw that it was would be another two hours before the banks opened. Snatching his hat and overcoat from the hook inside his door, he announced, "I'll be back by lunchtime," leaving his squad and typing pool watching him leave with speculation and surprise.

~~AV~~

A light rapping on the cabin door made Bill crack open his eyes. Laura, curled on his chest, murmured in her sleep. He wanted to ignore the summons, but his stomach growled; he'd worked up an appetite and this was their breakfast.

Sliding out from under his wife, he staggered to the bathroom on wobbly legs to grab his robe. Tying the sash, he went to the door.

It was a cheerful young steward, holding a large tray. "Good morning, sir!"

"Mornin'," mumbled Bill. "Bring it on in."

He directed the young man to the table near the door instead of to the veranda, past Laura's deliciously naked body in the bed.

Jake came padding out of the maid's room.

The steward patted the dog's head. "There's something special for you."

Impatient, Bill looked around for his suit jacket. He needed to tip this boy and move him along.

"Mrs Doral's nurse offered her mistress's steak from last night for his breakfast. She said there's been a misunderstanding between Mr Doral and your dog."

"Yeah, a misunderstanding." Bill found his jacket, but no wallet. He searched for the pants.

"Mrs Doral's been ill most of the voyage," the steward said with a bit less cheerfulness.

Bill found his wallet. Triumphant, he pulled out a bill and shoved it in the young man's hand. "That's a real shame," he said, leading the steward toward the entrance.

"Darling..." came from the bed area.

The steward's smile became a smirk. Glaring, Bill shoved him through the door.

"Comin'," he called. Uncovering one of the platters, he discovered a chopped-up steak. "This must be for you," he said, putting it down by Jake. The dog sniffed the plate.

Carrying the tray to the veranda, he set it on the table there, and returned to the bed, flopping down beside a drowsy Laura, still lying face down in the pillows.

She draped an arm across his chest. "I thought perhaps you were doing your jumping jacks," she said, worming her hand inside his robe to squeeze his chest.

"Are you kidding?" he groaned. "I can barely move. You've worn me out, woman."

And yet he still wasn't sated. Rolling over, he breathed in her scent-only it was his scent; he'd left his mark on her last night. Possessiveness coiled in his belly, tightening there. "Mine," he growled against her bare shoulder.

She gave a delighted laugh. "You may not remember the wedding, but you know that."

His brow furrowed at the mention of his amnesia. Quickly, she reassured him. "Really, dear, it doesn't upset me. I know your memory will return in time. Until then..." She kissed his chin. "We're making new memories."

He buried his face in her hair. Time and time again, Laura had led him to places and things he'd never imagined a wife wanting, assuring him this was all familiar territory for them. Yet he couldn't remember a single moment, much to his frustration. When his own body needed time to recover, he'd still found ways to give her pleasure and the ease with which she responded showed him that she was truly his partner.

As though reading his mind, she leaned close. "I thought for sure you'd remember..." She whispered the act, tickling his ear. He blushed at the memory. "You made that sound, just like the first time I did it." Her giggle caused a stirring in his groin, something he didn't think would be possible.

He rolled her onto her back and lifted her breast to his mouth, suckling at the soft flesh. Arching off the bed, she laughed breathlessly. "Now, Bill, we have to save something for tonight."

"Tonight?" he mumbled, keeping her nipple between his lips. His hand wandered under the bedding to find the junction of her legs. She gripped his fingers in her taut thighs, stopping him.

Giggling again, she sat up. "Yes, tonight in Honolulu."

He lay with his head in her lap, looking up at her with utter adoration.

"We can christen a new bed," she said with satisfaction, running her fingers through his already tousled hair. She slapped his chest, avoiding his scar. "But now, I'm starving!"

He grinned. Truly a woman after his own heart.

~~AV~~

Giles walked into the Shady Trees Motel and rang the bell at reception. At the end of the counter, a thin man sat on a short wooden stool, studying the sports page while he listened to a baseball game on a radio.

"Can I help ya?" the clerk asked, without looking up.

"You make everyone sign in on your registry?"

"Course I do," the clerk grumbled defensively, still not bothering to take his eyes off his paper. "What sorta establishment you think this is?"

Giles looked around at the worn carpet and pots that contained wilted brown plants of the lobby.

"My mistake," he drawled.

Taking out his police badge, he flipped it open and lay it upon the clerk's newspaper. "I'd like to read the registry."

The clerk slowly folded his newspaper and peered up at the detective. "What days were you interested in?"

"Let's start with about two weeks ago."

"That'll still be in this one." The man flipped the pages of the book on the counter to the earlier date. "Any name you're looking for in particular?"

"Laird."

The old man scratched his bald head. "Nope. Had no Lairds."

Giles looked up at him with a raised eyebrow. "You'd remember?"

"Yep," he simply answered, confident.

Giles ran his finger down the names, dismissing the singles and concentrating on the names of the married couples. Nothing stood out as an obvious alias...Until...

"Adams! Mr and Mrs Bill Adams."

"Yeah, I remember them. Quiet, clean couple. They've visited us on more than one occasion."

"A classy dame with red hair and a darker gentleman with a scarred face?"

The clerk frowned. "Well, no, that's not the two I'm thinking of. They're middle-aged; he's blond, skinny; she had brown curls, nice little figure. He was always polite like and she always seemed skittish. I don't think this was exactly her type of place, if ya know what I mean?"

The man leaned closer. "He'd pay and get the key. She never came in here, you know-"

Tyrol pushed his hat back. "How'd you know she was there, then?"

Lifting his bony shoulders in a shrug, the clerk shifted his eyes. "I keep an eye on the rooms-you understand."

"Sure." Tyrol pulled his notebook out and flipped it open. "They came more than once?"

The clerk nodded.

Giles licked his pencil tip and started writing down the dates the 'Adams' frequented the motel. "They stay overnight?"

"He did. Her, just the once. But she usually came during the day-afternoons, you know." The clerk winked.

"And they arrived in the same car?"

"No," the clerk confirmed, smiling knowingly.

Giles sighed and transferred all the dates into his notepad before making his way to the payphone in the corner of the lobby. He wanted to check in with the station.

He pulled out his notepad once again when Cally filled him in on the latest development. Their Jane Doe now had a name: _Joan Smith_. Her sister had reported her disappearance only yesterday. Although she couldn't identify the disfigured face, she knew her sister's mole.

Apparently Joan had called her sister a few days ago, upset that her employer had abruptly terminated her services as a home nurse. The plan was for Joan to come and stay with her sister until she found another position, only she had never arrived.

"Who was her previous employer?" he asked.

He scribbled down the name and address Cally related. He was close; he could question her employers before lunch.

~~AV~~

Jake sat at Bill's feet, drool gathering around his jowls as his eyes followed every mouthful his master placed in his mouth.

"Jake's hungry, dear," Laura commented as she sipped delicately on her tea.

Bill threw the dog the end of his bacon before rising to retrieve the dog's dish from the inside of the cabin.

"Here," he said, setting the bowl down before Jake. "It's steak. Don't be so picky."

As Jake sniffed suspiciously at the meat, Bill's attention was diverted for the moment as he looked over at his lovely 'new' wife.

"You'll have to entertain yourself for a few hours. I have a hair appointment at the salon before we arrive in Honolulu," she told him, fluffing her hair.

"You look swell," he assured her. "Let's spend the day together." Although he couldn't put his finger on a specific threat, he felt uneasy. He just wanted to keep his eye on Laura.

She shot him a bemused look. "You must think I just roll out of bed looking like this. It takes work to maintain this appearance."

"I know you roll out of bed looking like that," he said confidently.

She patted his hand. "So sweet. While you're sleeping, I get up early and put all my makeup on and do my hair."

He laughed aloud, suddenly adoring her so much it hurt. She smiled back, her eyes glistening. "I love to make you laugh," she murmured, a catch in her voice.

He squeezed her hand. "Spend the day with me," he repeated.

"We have simply weeks together in Hawaii." She stood and he hurried around to pull back her chair. "We'll become utterly bored with each other."

"Have you been bored in our marriage so far?" He wrapped his arms around her waist, knowing he wasn't playing fair.

She started laughing and finally catching her breath, shook her head. "No, Bill, I have not been bored for a single moment."

He found her neck under her hair to nibble the sensitive skin behind her ear. "Good," he rumbled, his hands moving up to her chest-

"Bill, I will be strong," she insisted, stepping out of his embrace.

Winding her silk scarf around her neck, she peeked under the table at Jake. "He still hasn't eaten! Yes, the two of you need to bond. He's feeling your loss terribly."

He trailed her into the cabin while she searched for her handbag. "And after my appointment, I really should go by Sesha's cabin and chat for a few minutes." She didn't sound enthusiastic.

"The steward said she's been ill."

"We haven't seen her out much, have we," Laura mused, waiting for Bill to fetch Jake's leash and his suit coat.

"But she's an old friend. I should make an effort," she said with determination.

"Good girl." Bill gave her one more kiss. "I'll see you later then."

He watched his wife sashay down the deck. "Damn, I still don't get what she saw in this old mutt," he told Jake. "Or you either," he added.

The dog started sniffing around and licked up a piece of discarded chewing gum.

"I'm not feelin' sorry for you." Bill tugged him away. "What's wrong with you anyway? Have you gone plumb loco? Wouldn't even eat a steak," he lectured as they strolled along the deck "I should take you to that head shrinker; see if she can straighten you out."

"I'd be very happy to have a session with your dog," a voice said behind Bill, causing him to start.

He flushed. "Sorry, Doctor Ishay-"

The younger woman smiled at him, pushing back the tendrils of her hair blowing free from her hat. "Don't be. As I said, I'll see what I can do for your dog. What's his name?"

Bill clutched the leash with both hands. "Jake."

"Good solid name." Layne petted the dog's head. "Shall we go?"

Tucking her arm in Bill's, she started to lead him toward her cabin.

Unable to think of an excuse to escape, Bill and Jake joined her.

She held the door open for him and Bill stepped over the lip carefully. His gaze darted away from the couch by her porthole. He began to pace. Jake lay on the floor and watched him, the dog's dark eyes worried.

Layne sat at her desk. "Smoke if you've got them," she said easily.

Grateful, Bill fumbled with his cigarette case and lighter. He offered her one first and lit it for her.

Puffing quickly to catch the flame, she nodded her thanks. "What a lovely platinum set," she said.

He looked down at the monogrammed case as if he'd never seen it. "Must be a gift from Laura. I sure couldn't afford something like this." He shoved it in his pocket.

"Your wife is wealthy?"

"Yeah, I figured that much out." He puffed on his cigarette and paced in small circles.

"How fortunate in these uncertain financial times..."

"I didn't marry her for her money!" he insisted. Then dropped his head. "I hope-"

"This must be very difficult for you..."

"And the dog!" He waved his cigarette at Jake who lifted his head. "He's not eating-"

"I'm sure this is very upsetting for him. He was with you when you had your accident?"

"Yeah, I guess so. I took him out for a walk. He came back without me. That's what got Laura out looking for me."

"Perhaps he saw what happened."

"The dog's a witness?" Bill barked a laugh.

Layne shrugged and inhaled deeply from her cigarette.

"That's ridiculous!"

"Then I guess I can't help him." The doctor squinted at him through her cigarette's smoke. "So I suppose we will just have to talk about your marriage."

"I don't remember my marriage," he growled.

"What about your first marriage?" she suggested.

"How do you know I was married before?" He looked at her suspiciously.

She tipped her head to look at him like a bright bird. "Playing the odds. A man of your age-"

He cut her off. "I've been married."

"Divorced?"

"Of course not!" He began pacing again.

"No divorce for you?"

"Hell, no. You make a vow, you don't break it."

She leaned forward, supporting her elbows on her knees and watched him carefully. "So, widowed."

"Yes." He grubbed out his cigarette in an ashtray by the couch and turned away abruptly. "What're we talking about that marriage for? I'm trying to fix the one I got now!"

"People tend to repeat their patterns," the doctor started to say, but stopped when his face blanched white.

"Don't say that," he hissed. "I love Laura. I'd never hurt her."

"You hurt your first wife?'

He sank to the couch and buried his face in his hands.

~~AV~~

"So, what shall I wear for this charade today, darling?" Paulla asked, studying Sesha's clothes neatly arranged in the closet. She pulled out a large hat, pressing it down onto her dark curls. "What do you think?"

She turned to Aaron. He stood in the middle of the room, looking uncomfortably flushed even though he had yet to go out into the morning sun.

She frowned. "What's wrong?"

"I don't think you need to dress up today," he said abruptly.

"You think I should remain as Nurse Schaffer?" She pulled the hat off and tossed it aside.

"Yes. I think it's time I started to look for a new benefactress."

She pursed her lips. "Yes, true. There will be quite a few easy targets around these vacation spots."

She studied his red face, his eyes that were darting around the room, the perspiration building across his forehead.

"Why don't I get you a drink," she murmured, moving to the room's side table and pouring him a tall glass of juice from their breakfast tray.

"I'll only need to sell one or two pieces of the jewelry first," he said, moving to peek out their stateroom's small windows before drawing the drapes across the portholes.

He returned to the center of the room. "I'll be able to set myself up as the playboy, convince everyone I'm quite wealthy."

She sauntered over and handed him the glass.

"Yes, of course. What role were you seeing for me? I could pose as your sister, perhaps?"

He peered at her over the lip of his glass, sipping thoughtfully.

"I hadn't thought of that. The frumpy sister-in-law can often be an attraction. The potential new wife sees companionship in her, and sex in me."

Paulla smiled brightly. "You really think you're that good in bed?" she taunted. "You really have no idea, do you?"

Now it was Aaron's turn to frown. "What are you talking about? You want me enough."

She began to laugh, hysterically and high-pitched.

"Shut up!" he screamed.

Aaron reached into his coat pocket and drew out the pilfered handgun. He aimed it directly at Paulla's shocked face.

"Here's what my original plan was, Paulla _dear_ ," he sneered. "The original plan was to give you my sad, sad story. My horrible crippled wife who took all her anger of the world out on her innocent husband. For you to see for yourself her terrible disposition. For your empathy to be such as you not only began an affair with her husband, but also, one night, when you couldn't take it anymore, for you to kill her."

"You wanted me to kill Sesha all along?"

"Of course I did! I tried to kill her with that damn horse! It's my own fault that I had to endure her for another three years! I should have made sure I got the job done right in the first place!"

"So, you deliberately seduced me at the health spa?"

"Yes, you nitwit!" he hissed. "And you made it so easy. But now, the next part of my original plan needs to be played out. The part where I dispose of my collaborator and sail off to Hawaii a free man."

Paulla bit down on her bottom lip, holding in the giggles that continued to rise. "You're such a silly man. That's a terrible plan!"

Aaron blinked. Wasn't she in the least bit afraid? He was about to shoot her, dammit!

"You can't shoot me, Aaron," she said, as if reading his mind. "For starters, what are you going to do with my body? And where are you going to say both your wife and your wife's nurse are when you disembark? You haven't thought this plan through very well at all, have you?"

"You can have an encore performance as Sesha. And I simply roll you off the ship."

"What?" she scoffed. "And the gunshot? Trust me, they make a terrible mess."

She shook her head in mock dismay. "How are you going to shoot me without anyone hearing? Are you going to say I committed suicide? This really is a terrible plan," she drawled.

His hand started to shake. He was now sweating profusely. His legs gave way and he collapsed onto the floor. She kicked the gun away after it fell harmlessly from his grasp. His body began to convulse, a mixture of bile and saliva burst out from his mouth.

Paulla stood over his dying body and looked down at him with scorn. "You see, Aaron darling, I think I had a much better plan than you all along."

She was about to let out a whoop of laughter when someone knocked on the cabin door.


	14. Chapter 14

Peter Laird walked into his kitchen. A woman stood at the sink, but it wasn't the familiar scene he was accustomed to. Marie could whip up a meal for the entire family in less than ten minutes with three ingredients. He could tell from the tense stance of Emily's back alone that she was out of her depth. She was cutting up carrots, a simple enough task, but she reminded him of a rookie cop cleaning his gun for the first time, tentative and fumbling.

He felt a burning ache in his chest, but fought through the pain. He had to stay strong.

"Here," he said, taking the knife from Emily's grasp, "let me do that."

She looked up at him, and her eyes widened. "I can't let you do it. I'm supposed to be helping."

He gave a short chortle of laughter. "I don't think you'll be much help when you've lost a finger," he teased gently.

She smiled back, and he quickly looked away. He wasn't supposed to be laughing.

"You've cleaned yourself up," she noted. He'd bathed and shaved, and had put on a clean suit.

"Yeah, I have to start thinking about returning to work again." He dropped the carrots in the waiting pot of water.

"What are you going to do? With the children?" she probed.

He put down the knife and wrung his hands on a towel.

"I'm not sure," he finally said. "I have to work."

"Perhaps Detective Tyrol will let you work only day shifts."

"I don't need special treatment. I just want things to be how they were!"

She turned to the sink, taking the wash rag and rubbing down the already clean counter. "Yes. Of course."

"Sorry. I didn't mean to snap." Peter started to reach for her slim shoulder, but then pulled his hand back. "I'm really sorry you had to see me this way."

She looked at him out of the corner of her eye. "I understand."

He found himself smiling back, so he had to speak sharply: "I think you should go on home."

His cold words hung in the air.

Emily took a step back. "Oh. Oh, of course."

Hanging his head, Peter became fascinated with the scuffed toe of his shoe. "I'm all cleaned up. I can make the kids dinner, no worries."

"Yes. Um, sure. I'll be going then." She continued to back up until she was at the kitchen door. "I'll just say goodbye to the children."

He went to the ice box to retrieve the cold fried chicken their neighbor had brought by, keeping his back to Emily. "Yeah. Thanks for everything."

~~AV~~

Tyrol followed the butler into the mansion's drawing room.

"The mistress is away," the tall servant said again.

"Yeah, I got that. Expect them back soon?" Chief dug out his cigarettes, but didn't light one when the butler sniffed his nose.

"No, sir. They are on a voyage to Hawaii."

"Lovely," Tyrol said wryly. He sat without being asked. The butler raised his hawk-nose in the air.

The detective pulled out his notebook and flipped it open.

"I'm here about Mrs Doral's nurse, Joan Smith. Did you know her?"

The butler's eyes widened briefly when he realized he was to be questioned, not the Dorals.

"Yes, sir."

Tyrol sighed. This was going to be like pulling teeth. He went ahead and lit his cigarette. "She's dead."

"That's unfortunate."

"Yeah, her family's torn up."

The butler remained silent.

"Her nude body washed up in San Francisco. She'd been drugged but drowned. Any ideas how this could have happened?"

The other man sniffed as though Tyrol had removed his large Oxford shoe. "No, sir."

"What type of girl was she? Good time?" the detective asked aggressively.

"I couldn't say, sir."

"She wouldn't let you get over on her?"

"She wasn't my sort." The butler's flabby upper lip curled.

Tyrol squinted at the impassive, broad face. "Whose sort was she?"

Shrugging, the butler allowed his gaze to rise upward, signifying the upper floors.

"It was like that, huh?" Chief ground out his cigarette in a large, crystal ashtray.

"Yes, sir."

"Mrs Doral didn't mind?"

"She is not in any condition to protest," the butler said, emotion finally creeping into his voice. "Madam is a cripple."

His features twisting in distaste, Tyrol moved on. "When was the last time you saw Miss Smith?"

"She was here two days before they left on their pleasure cruise. I understand Mrs Doral dismissed her, and engaged a new nurse for her trip."

"Miss Smith lived here?"

"Yes, sir."

"I wanna see her room." Tyrol pushed up from the chair.

"There's nothing in it, sir. It's been cleaned top to bottom," the butler said with relish.

The detective shoved his hat down on his head. "Has it now," he grumbled.

~~AV~~

Doctor Ishay came to put her hand on Bill's shoulder. "Mr Adams, you must understand, suicide isn't shameful."

He shied away from her touch. "We don't speak of those sort of things in my family"

"What do you tell others happened to your wife?" she asked, incredulous.

Hunching his shoulders, he gave her a petulant look. "She died from a fall."

Ishay folded her arms. "All right. And I can imagine seeing a woman fall to her death would trigger the traumatic memories of your wife's death."

"I just got a bump on the head, that's all," he said stubbornly. "No trauma."

"You seem fairly worried that this will affect your new marriage," she suggested.

"I failed Carolanne-couldn't be the husband she needed," he said gloomily. "I can't fail Laura. She doesn't deserve it."

She rolled her eyes but continued to speak calmly. "Mr Adams, I'm going to ask if you'll allow me to hypnotize you."

"What the hell?" He jumped up from the couch. "I'm not some carnival sideshow!"

"No, no, Mr Adams. This is a legitimate method. We must unlock your subconscious."

"My sub-what?"

"The truth is trapped inside." She tapped his forehead, her patience fraying. His skull did feel uncommonly thick.

"I dunno-" He started to ease toward the door, Jake close to his leg.

"Are you afraid, Mr Adams?" she asked coolly. "You won't even do it for your wife?"

Setting his mouth, he marched back to the couch and lay on it. "Get on with it," he barked.

~~AV~~

When Laura rapped on the door to Joan Smith's cabin, she heard a woman's voice call out: "Come in."

Pasting on her most haughty smile-she didn't really have a story set for why she wanted to see the nurse-she stepped inside.

"Sesha!" she said, surprised.

Her old friend looked equally shocked. "What are you doing here?" asked Sesha Doral. She was seated on the narrow bed, a blanket draped over her legs.

"I'd come to see Joan Smith," Laura said, feeling rather stupid. What would she say if Sesha asked why? Quickly, she turned the tables. "Why are you here?"

"Joan's my former nurse," Sesha said, fluttering her hand. "I dropped in for one last visit before we arrive in Honolulu."

Although uninvited, Laura sat. "I went by your cabin to see you, Sesha, but no one answered."

Her friend blinked very slowly. "I'm sure Aaron's at the gentlemen's lounge."

"I thought I heard someone inside, but I suppose it was your new nurse," Laura said, smiling. "I wanted a chance for us to chat as well, once more."

She looked around. "Will Joan be back soon?"

Sesha waited a long moment before replying. "She's taken my wheelchair to the ship's workshop. It needed some repairs."

"You must get those done before we arrive in Hawaii. There's so much to see."

"Yes, I plan on getting out a great deal."

"I hear you've been ill," said Laura, worried.

"It has been a difficult journey, but it's nearly over." Sesha fumbled in her dress pocket and retrieved a cigarette case and lighter.

"I'm sorry we didn't get a chance to chat more," Laura said guiltily. "Or our husbands to get to know each other."

Sesha smiled thinly at her through the cloud of smoke. "I doubt they have much in common, beside being _men_." She spat out the last word.

A soft smile came to Laura's lips. She was very grateful that Bill was a man.

Sesha watched her friend, noted the glow to her cheeks, the relaxed drape to her limbs in the chair. Laura has always been an edgy woman when they knew each other as students, and now...Disgusted, she picked a bit of tobacco off the tip of her tongue.

"Really, that's been the only advantage of being in that chair," she hissed. "Aaron doesn't press his attentions on me."

"I'm sorry to hear you've been unhappy-"

"I've been very happy!" insisted Sesha. "And you..." She looked her friend over. "If I may be frank, Laura, you appear to have become rather common with your marriage."

Shocked, Laura looked down at her chic silk suit and expensive alligator pumps. "Really, Sesha!" she gasped.

"That man has made you this way." Sesha leaned forward. "He forces his attentions on you all the time-I saw the way he was pawing you at the Aloha dinner-"

"And I was pawing him right back!" spluttered Laura, leaping from her chair. "As I said, I'm sorry that you have not found happiness with your second marriage-"

"I didn't like it with Ray either! Always crawling on top of me, pushing at me with his thing..." Sesha's face twisted into an ugly mask.

This was very upsetting; Laura was torn between pity, embarrassment and anger. "I'm so sorry, Sesha. But please don't judge my marriage against your unfortunate experiences..."

She turned to leave. The door swung open.

Paulla pushed the wheelchair in. She stared at Laura. "Mrs Adams!" She looked over her shoulder to Sesha, and then back to Laura. "What a surprise!"

~~AV~~

"Mr Adams, can you hear me?" murmured Layne, leaning close to Bill.

"Yeah," he said drowsily, but his eyes remained open.

"Let's remember the night you hit your head."

"I can't." His heavy brow furrowed.

"What do you remember?"

He smiled. "Making love to my wife. Damn, she feels so good..." He rubbed his hands on his thighs and panicking, Layne realized they had to move along.

"After that."

Bill frowned. "Damn dog needs to go out. Storm's blowing."

"Yes. So you took him outside."

"Raining hard, sideways." Bill shivered.

"Where are you going?"

"Upper deck. Special place for dogs."

"Do you get there?"

"No, damn dog runs off."

"Do you chase him?"

"Yeah."

"Do you catch him?"

"No."

"What happens?"

Bill swallowed hard. "A woman's body falls past me, into the water."

Layne squeezed her hands together. "Was she alive? Did she jump?"

"Naked. Body slack. Blanket came after her. I look up..."

"What do you see, Mr Adams?"

"A man's face, can't make it out in the rain. Sees me, gone. Have to get him." Bill began to breath quickly.

"You go up the stairs?"

"Yes."

"Do you catch him?"

"No."

"What happe-"

"Sesha Doral says, 'Get him' and crack! Right on my head." He winced and rubbed the back of his head.

Layne suppressed a gasp. Sesha Doral was a wealthy woman confined to a wheelchair, but the doctor had seen stranger things happen. "Do you remember anything more?"

"Tired."

"Yes, I understand Mr Adams, but you need to try and remember..."

"No, tired then. Just wanted to sleep. But these women are talking, talking about getting rid of me. Can't get up though, so I go to sleep."

"When do you wake?"

"I dunno. But I was in a lifeboat. Back hurt like hell. Still storming, bad. Had to get up and check on the ship's operations." He looked confused. "But that's not my job anymore."

"No, it wasn't." She gently touched his hand. "Mr Adams, do you remember marrying Laura Roslin?"

He laughed, surprising her. "Yeah, what a day! First she took me to her cabin and had her way with me!" His weathered face look exactly like a naughty boy confessing to sneaking a pie off the window sill.

The doctor found herself blushing. "Well, good." She patted his hand harder. "You can wake up now."

Bill slowly blinked. He touched his head again. "Uh...Did I remember?" He blinked more rapidly. "Yes, yes..."

Leaping up, he pushed aside the doctor. "Laura's going to the Dorals' cabin!"

Layne struggled out of her chair. "Oh my God!"

"Come on Jake!" Bill called over his shoulder.

His tail whirling with excitement, the dog was at his master's heel as they ran out of the cabin.

"Why don't I get you a drink, Mrs Adams," Nurse Schaffer offered after the three women eyed each other warily for a long uncomfortable moment.

"I was just leaving," Laura announced.

Joan Smith must be alive, so there was really no point in Laura waiting for the girl to return. She moved toward the doorway, but the nurse was maneuvering the cumbersome wheelchair around, blocking her path.

"Laura said she came to our cabin to see us, but no one answered," Sesha drawled from the bed. "Has Mr Doral gone to the gentlemen's lounge?"

"No, he and Joan are catching up; sharing a drink." Paulla gave the women a prim little smile.

Laura frowned. None of this made sense. One nurse was having drinks with Sesha's husband while another fetched her wheelchair? And Sesha was simply returning Paulla's smile instead of seeming upset.

"Oh good!" Sesha cried out, before letting out a high pitched squeal of laughter that made the hairs on Laura's neck stand on end as she also noted her friend's overly bright eyes and flushed features.

"Aaron and Joan were very close," Sesha went on. "Maybe your husband has a servant who's a particular favorite, Laura?"

Laura blinked, remembering her flash of jealousy when she'd seen how much Brigette the maid hero worshiped Bill. Yet her husband had never given her a moment of uncertainty.

"No. Bill isn't like that," she said confidently.

"Well, you're still in the honeymoon phase, aren't you?" Sesha sneered. "And your money is still an aphrodisiac to him."

Biting down on her bottom lip hard, Laura tried to think of a diplomatic thing to say. Ever since she'd married Bill, she's been fielding rude remarks about him. But somehow, coming from a friend with whom she'd once been so close, it hurt even more deeply. If she let loose and started to tell this bitter woman what she really thought, she wouldn't stop.

Sesha's blouse became Laura's focus.

"Aaron has always been more comfortable with his own kind."

 _Sesha's blouse..._

"So you need to be careful. Water finds its own level." For some reason, this old saying made Sesha chuckle to herself.

 _Joan Smith taking the wheelchair to be repaired, but Paulla returning with it..._

"Your dear Bill is from the same stable as Aaron, after all. Or should I say they're from the same boat?"

 _Sesha reclining in the yet unseen nurse's room as though she owned it..._

Sesha continued her insidious barrage. "Your husband will one day sicken of being your lapdog and seek someone he can slum it with."

Laura just stared at this sullen mask that had once been her vivacious college chum.

 _The pricey brush set, the expensive clothes in the closet...That blouse in the closet..._

She straightened her back. "Speaking of my charming husband, I know he'll be looking for me," Laura said, forcing her voice to be light. "I'll say good day, Sesha-"

Her friend only gave her a cold smile in return.

"Yes, he's looking for me," Laura said firmly and turned to go.

Paulla was still blocking her path. This time with a syringe in her gloved hands.

"You're becoming overwrought, Mrs Doral," the nurse murmured, advancing toward the two women. "Perhaps a sedative will settle you down."

Laura's shoulders slumped in relief. The nurse saw Sesha's disturbance as well. She'd been imagining things-

Impossibly strong hands grabbed her from behind, holding her fast. She struggled-the nurse's smile become a full, terrifying grin as she tore the fine fabric of Laura's suit to expose her bare arm. The needle bit into Laura's flesh, even as she continued to fight.

"Bill!" screamed Laura, hopeless as that seemed that he would be passing.

Paulla slapped her hard, silencing her for a moment. When Laura opened her mouth to cry out again, she could barely make a sound. Whatever was in the syringe took effect quickly; she went slack. The room blurred.

Her attacker dropped her, and she fell to the ground. Her head lolled over and she looked up at Sesha standing above her.

"You bitch," she managed to croak out before the room went dark.


	15. Chapter 15

Paulla hoisted Laura into the wheelchair with the expertise of a nurse used to moving patients. "How are we going to kill her?" she puffed.

Sesha sighed and brushed a lock of hair back from Laura's forehead. "Yes, I suppose we'll have to kill her," she murmured. "She knows too much. Such a shame. We were quite good friends for a time."

Paulla gave Sesha's hand a reassuring squeeze. "We can't let her tell anyone you were in this cabin."

"No. True."

Paulla retrieved her nurse's bag from the floor. "I do have this." She drew out the handgun Aaron had waved in her face before succumbing to the poison.

"Where did _that_ come from?"

"Your darling husband."

"Well! That's a secret he kept well hidden. I had no idea he owned that!"

Paulla put the gun back in the bag. "He admitted it," she said with barely contained fury. "That little weasel admitted he deliberately tried to kill you with the horse."

Sesha's eyes sparkled, dark and disturbing. "I knew, I knew." She moved easily into Paulla's embrace, softening at the way the nurse stroked her hair. But then she stepped away. There'd be time for that later.

Understanding, the nurse looked down at Laura's slumped body in the chair. "We can't just shoot her," mused Paulla. "The noise will have every steward on the ship come running."

"Damn! What a pity they've banned trap shooting for the remainder of the voyage."

"Well, let's get her out of here for starters." Paulla fit one of Sesha's large hats on Laura's head and efficiently tucked the blanket over her lap. She glanced around. "Have you finished cleaning the room?"

"Yes," said Sesha, lifting a suitcase by the closet. "My things are gone, and Aaron's passionate love letters are in place." The women exchanged smirks.

The giddiness left Sesha's features as she put another hat on her head to shield her face. "Too bad Laura's so damn happy with her marriage," she snarled. "Or we could fake her suicide too."

She opened the door for Paulla and lowered her voice. "Nor can we toss her off the side in broad daylight."

The nurse stopped pushing the wheelchair beside her and tenderly rubbed her arm. "Don't worry. I'll find a way. For you."

The two women hurried along, but didn't look out of place with those passengers preparing for that day's disembarking. Others were on the upper deck, watching the hula dancers perform and the tiki dancers with their whirling torches.

Even the crewmembers were neglecting their duties to see the lovely girls in their skimpy costumes. As they moved down the deck, Paulla noticed a young deckhand abandon his bucket of creosote by the hand railing he had been painting. She scooped it up as they passed.

Sesha tipped her head in an unspoken question. The drumbeats coming from the performance on the deck above grew louder and louder. The crowd cheered as the flaming torches whirled high above.

"Fire," the nurse hissed at her mistress.

~~AV~~

Bill's shoulder cracked the locked door to the Dorals' cabin. It splintered and finally gave way. His headlong rush stopped when he spotted Aaron Doral's body lying in the middle of the floor.

"Laura!" he called out, but there was no answer.

Feeling for a pulse, he found Doral's body cooling and quite dead. He looked around quickly and noticed a note on the nearby table. He picked it up.

 _I couldn't live with myself for killing Joan and cheating on my darling wife Sesha. Goodbye, cruel world._

Bill lifted the half-empty glass of orange juice on the table and sniffed. His nose wrinkled.

Jake gave Doral's body a thorough sniffing, growling in the back of his throat.

"He was there that night?" asked Bill. He saw a red bite mark on Doral's exposed ankle. "And you got him," he said approvingly.

Jake sniffed around the floor, then bustled out of the sitting room.

Bill ducked his head in the bathroom-nothing. Where could Laura be? Panic was rising in his throat. Obviously Doral hadn't killed himself; that nurse and Sesha Doral had. Where would they take Laura?

He was reaching for the phone when he heard Jake yipping and whining somewhere. Fear tightening around his heart, he followed the sound. He found the dog in the maid's room, pawing at a steamer trunk shoved to the corner.

"What is it, boy?" Bill tugged the dog back and yanked open the trunk. The smell of a dead body assaulted his nose, but the trunk was empty.

That was it; he had to contact the Captain and get the crew looking for Laura-a small object caught his eye at the bottom of the trunk. He brought it into the light. It was a round gold pin with a red cross on it. A nurse's pin...The only other nurse on the ship was Joan Smith-and he remembered how anxious the dog had been in that room.

He wasn't sure what the connection was, but his gut told him he needed to get to that cabin-now. He wasn't going to waste him time trying to convince the captain to listen to him.

He rushed down the empty corridor, Jake following close. Joan Smith's cabin was on the same deck as the Dorals'. His heart beat a rapid tattoo in synchronization with the incessant beat of the drums that pulsed through the ship.

Reaching Joan Smith's cabin full of adrenaline and ready to crash through another door, Bill decided on a more stealth approach. He quietly unlocked the door with his passkey and pushed the door open a crack. He saw no one inside.

Flinging the door open, Bill began to search frantically. He'd been sure that Laura would be here. The closet gave him pause. Gone were the pretty frocks that Laura had noticed; there were only dull suits and blouses.

He whirled. The silver brush and mirror set was gone off the vanity table.

Jake roamed the room, sniffing and whimpering anxiously.

"Where is she, boy?" Bill asked.

The light streaming through the doorway caught on a single red hair on the carpet. Carefully, Bill lifted it. Laura _had_ been here.

He lunged for the room's phone and demanded to speak to Captain Russo; he needed help.

When he was finally put through, he started right in. "Yeah, listen. My wife's missing. Those damn Dorals have done something with her and I think the nurse is tied up with it."

The captain tried to cut him off.

"No!" barked Bill. "I'm tellin' you! Aaron Doral's dead in their room! Go look! Mrs Doral tried to kill me! That's who clipped me!"

"Mr Adams!" Russo gasped in shock.

"I need you to get all your men lookin' for my wife! If they tried to toss me over the side, they could do it to her too!"

Bill slammed the receiver down. "Come on, Jake," he said urgently. "I know you're a herding dog, but I need you to get a scent."

Wagging his tail, Jake darted through the open door, on the trail.

~~AV~~

Russo looked up at his First Officer. "Herm, pull Doc Ishay off his barstool. We're going to need him. It sounds like Mr Adams has gone clear around the bend...Or worse." He looked down at the wire Herman had just delivered from the San Francisco Police Department. One of their passengers had just washed up in the bay, murdered.

Bill Adams claimed to have seen a woman's body going off the ship; was she this Joan Smith? And he was fingering respectable society leaders as his attackers. Perhaps his wife _was_ in danger...From him?

He called in another junior officer. "Please look in the Dorals' cabin. Mr Doral may be ill," he told the young man.

~~AV~~

Bill realized Jake was leading him back to their cabin. Then he smelled the smoke, a thick, oily scent. He ran faster, yelling, "Fire!"

His call of alarm was drowned out by the rhythmic music and the cheers of its audience.

He lay a hand on their door, and then just as quickly removed it. It was blazing hot. The veranda...He ran out through the corridor door, onto the deck.

Paulla, pushing Sesha's wheelchair away, noticed him.

"What is it?" asked Sesha, craning her head around the back of the chair.

"Adams arrived," Paulla said flatly. "But it's no matter. He can't save her now, and with any luck, he'll die too."

Sesha chuckled, and dropped the key to the Adams' door over the railing. "Yes, let's get back to the cabin. I believe we have a body to discover."

Bill vaulted the railing around their veranda and peered into the glass doors, trying to see through the fluttering white curtains. Nothing but orange flames.

Lifting one of the deck chairs, he hurled it at the glass door. shattering it. Squeezing through the shard-edged frame, he tried to see through the smoke. "Laura!" he called out.

No answer.

He dropped to his hands and knees and started crawling across the room. Below the smoke, he could see Laura lying on the bed, surrounded by flames. He headed to the bathroom and quickly soaked the large towels before returning to the room. Daring to stand, he began beating at the flames with the towels, knocking them down so he could get to Laura.

After covering her nose and mouth with one of the wet towels, he lifted her slack body. But when he turned back toward the veranda, he saw the curtains had caught fire. There was no way out.

The Brigadier wandered down the corridor, sniffing the air. "Somethin' burnin'," he muttered. "Those damn tiki boys must have set the ship on fire. Bloody fools."

He noticed Jake scratching the Adams' cabin door, barking frantically.

"What is it, you hound?" asked Blackthorne, ineffectually trying to tug the dog away. Even as blind as he was, he noticed the smoke coming from under the door.

"Good God!" He looked around for help, but most passengers were still on the upper deck. Vaguely, he remembered that a fire axe was along this wall...He'd thought it was a corridor door once, and had tugged on the handle for five minutes until a steward had set him straight. Fumbling along, he found the cabinet holding the axe Breaking the glass with the hammer, he wrenched free the axe and huffed back to the cabin door.

"Give way, you cur!" he barked at Jake and gave the cabin door a great whack. More smoke poured out. Coughing, the Brigadier struck it again and again, filling the corridor with smoke and burning ashes. Crewmen began to run to the room, carrying buckets of water.

"Clear the way, sir!" one yelled, pushing Blackthorne aside. He tossed his water through the door and grabbed the next bucket offered to him.

"Is there anyone in there?" a steward bellowed in the Brigadier's ear.

"The dog acts like there is!"

"The hose is coming!" called out another steward, waving forward men tugging along a thick firehose. The stream was turned on and aimed into the room.

"There's someone in the cabin!" A deckhand pointed at the hulking figure making its way to the doorway.

"Give 'em that water!" ordered the officer.

Bill staggered through the lapping flames, billowing smoke and water spray to escape the cabin, still cradling Laura.

Crewmen took Laura from him and he sagged against the wall as they loaded her onto a stretcher.

Sesha and Paulla arrived at the Dorals' cabin to find Captain Russo and several other officers milling around the doorway, urgently talking. They stopped speaking when they saw the women.

"Mrs Doral," said Russo, stepping forward. "Please, I must speak to you."

"Let us go inside then," Sesha said agreeably.

"I'm afraid we can't-"

"Is something wrong?" Paulla asked quickly.

The Captain shook his head slightly at the nurse. She lay a reassuring hand on her mistress's shoulder.

"Is it my husband?" Sesha asked, her voice rising. "He's been acting so odd-"

Doctor Ishay came through the door and started at the sight of the women.

"My darling Aaron!" wailed Sesha when she saw Ishay's face blanch. "I must see him!"

"No, no," said the doctor, putting a shaking hand on the sobbing woman's arm. "You must be strong. We have terrible news-"

A deckhand came running up. "Doctor! Come immediately! There's been a fire! Mrs Adams is near death!"

"A fire!" Russo gasped. He ordered the junior officers to go to the cabin and demanded to hear further details.

"It's under control," panted the deckhand, "but the cabin's destroyed. The Adams have been taken to the sickbay."

"I'll come at once," said Ishay, galloping off.

In the confusion, the women dared to share a smile.

Bill paced beside Laura's bed as Doctor Ishay tended to her, refusing all treatment himself.

"She appears to have been drugged," Ishay said, dropping her eyelid back in place. "That's why she's non-responsive." He noticed her torn sleeve and pulled it down to expose the puncture mark and bruises.

"Those bitches," raged Bill. "Those damn murdering bitches could have killed my Laura!"

"Who?" gasped Ishay.

"Sesha Doral and her nurse," spit out Bill.

Captain Russo had arrived after checking the cabin. "Mr Adams! You must stop with these accusations!"

"They were there that night I was attacked! They've killed Joan Smith and Aaron Doral!"

"Do you have any proof?" asked the captain, narrowing his eyes at the seething, ash-covered man.

"I heard them!"

"You remember this?" queried the Captain.

"I remember everything now!"

"How did this come to be?" asked Ishay, looking up from his patient.

"Your daughter, Doctor Ishay; she hypnotized me, and unlocked my subconscious!"

Layne Ishay, having heard of the fire, came through the sickbay's doorway just as Adams said this. But her smile of pride vanished when her father spit out, "Hypnotized! I sent my girl to Cambridge to become a sideshow performer? This is madness!"

"Father, it's true!" insisted the younger doctor. "Mr Adams remembers his attack!"

Captain Russo cleared his throat. "I'm sure you believe this, Mr Adams, but truly you must see the madness of what you're saying. Sesha Doral is a member of a fine old California family-"

"So am I," snarled Bill, stepping toward the captain.

"I'm sure," garbled Russo. "But she's in a wheelchair-"

"She can walk!"

"How?" said the senior Ishay. "I remember hearing of her accident. She was thrown from a runaway horse. Those sort of injuries don't reverse themselves..." He cocked his eyebrow at his daughter, contempt on his face.

The young woman raised her chin and spoke coolly. "Perhaps it was a hysterical paralysis. A mental block keeping her from walking-"

"Everything is a mental block to you!" yowled her father. "If I were to cut off my arm, would it just be my imagination?"

Laura moaned in her sleep from the bed. Bill rushed to her side. "All of you get the hell out here and leave my wife alone."

Captain Russo tugged down his tunic. "I have a vessel to dock; I cannot be wasting any further time with this. I shall be contacting the Honolulu police department to investigate as soon as we're tied up."

"Good!" ranted Bill, clutching Laura's hand.

As the officers filed out, Russo murmured to the largest young man, "Stay outside the door. Don't allow Mr Adams to leave. I believe he's a danger to others."

Bill pointed at the medical doctor. "You stay. My wife needs you, for what you're worth."

"I shall stay as well, Mr Adams," said Layne. "I do have a medical degree, after all."

The elder Ishay rolled his eyes and bent to check on his patient again.

"How is she?" asked Bill "Beside being drugged?"

"There's some damage to her lungs from the smoke," Ishay admitted. "We won't know how extensive it is until she's conscious again."

Outside the porthole, cheers broke out.

"We're arriving in Honolulu," Ishay said. "Canoes paddle out to greet the ship, there's singing. Often topless maidens," he added wistfully.

Bill ground his teeth. Those murderous bitches were going to get away with nearly killing his wife! Grabbing Ishay by his soiled tunic, he tossed the doctor against the wall. "I'm goin' out for a minute. Take care of her with your life, you understand?"

"Of course, Mr Adams!" gasped Ishay.

Layne stood back, knowing that to try and stop Adams would enrage him more.

Without another word, Bill stormed out of the sickbay's door. Jake had been curled by the door, waiting for his owners. He hopped to his feet.

The young lieutenant stepped in front of Bill. "Sir, I must ask that you remain-"

Bill socked the taller man in the gut, causing him to bend over in pain. Then he gave the officer a hard right hook, knocking him out and to the deck. Jake cocked his head at the sight.

"Stay, Jake," Bill commanded. "This is somethin' I gotta do alone. You protect your mistress."

With a worried whine, Jake lay back down.

Stepping over the stained carpet where her husband's body had laid, Sesha settled into the wheelchair, fussing with the blanket over her knees. "Are we almost there?"

Paulla peered out through the porthole. "The lines are being secured now."

"I just want to get off this boat-"

Paulla came to her and cupped Sesha's cheek. "Don't worry. In just a few more minutes, we'll be free. Before the police can question us about that repellent man, Aaron Doral, we'll be on the China Clipper to the Philippines-"

There was a discreet knock at the door. "Steward."

Paulla looked around quickly. "Our bags are ready." She moved to the door and opened it.

Bill loomed in the doorway. Before she could slam it shut, he barreled through, grabbing her by the neck and dragging her away from Sesha's reach.

"I need to have a little chat with you," he hissed, his face inches from hers. "You women thought you were dealing with some pansy like Doral, but I'm a dirty street fighter, and you're about to find out how rough I can be."

"Stop it, stop it, you brute!" screamed Sesha, trying to wheel toward them. Bill kicked over a table, blocking her way, never loosening his grip on Paulla, even as she clawed and twisted in his hands.

~~AV~~

Laura moaned, her eyelids fluttering. "Bill," she croaked weakly.

Ishay rushed to her side. "Mrs Adams, don't try to speak-"

"Bill-"

"He's gone out," Ishay said lamely.

Laura struggled to rise from the bed. "He's in danger..." she whispered.

"No, no," assured the doctor.

Layne stepped forward. "Let her speak, father."

"Sesha, her nurse...They are the ones who tried to kill me...They'll hurt Bill..." Laura fell back to her pillow, her face white.

"Do you see?" Layne said urgently. "We must let the captain know!"

Calling the bridge, she explained quickly what Laura had said.

"Where's Mr Adams?" asked the captain, dreading her answer before the doctor even gave it. "Gone!?"

He slammed the phone down. "Come on, Herm." He motioned for his First Officer to follow. "Mr Adams has lost his mind! I'm sure he's out to harm Mrs Doral!"

Bill banged Paulla's head against the wall. "Well, are you going to confess?"

Sesha leaped from the wheelchair and scrambled for Paulla's nurse bag, obscenities and curses raining from her lips, language not befitting of a lady.

"I'm running out of patience," growled Bill, squeezing tighter on Paulla's neck. Her eyes remained bright and hate-filled. She bared her teeth like an animal at him.

"Let her go!" screamed Sesha, pulling out the handgun and waving it at the two struggling figures. "I'll kill you, you bastard!"

Bill whirled to face her, dragging Paulla with him. The door flung open, with Russo and two of his largest officers coming through. Startled, Sesha fired the gun.

Paulla grunted, an odd sound to Bill, and slumped in his grasp. Horrified, he let her slip to the floor, watching the spreading red stain on her chest.

Sesha pawed over the table, the gun forgotten on the floor. "Paulla! My dearest! My darling!"

Bill stepped back, all his anger and hate gone.

Russo stared at the two women as Sesha embraced her dying nurse. "She _can_ walk," he said.

Sesha glared up at him. "Of course I can, you fool! You think I'd allow some worm of a man to lock me in that chair!? It took me years, but I regained my ability to walk, all in secret from him."

"And then you killed him for it?" asked Bill.

The woman only smiled, still cradling Paulla's body. "You may burn in hell, Adams," she said haughtily, realizing she'd said too much already.

Shaking his head, Bill pushed past the captain. "I gotta get back to my wife."

"Contact the police," Russo ordered one of his officers. "And have them meet us at the gangplank. We'll get this straightened out yet."

Back at the sickbay, Bill brushed aside the Ishays' questions and hurried to Laura. She lifted her pale hand to take his. "Darling," she rasped, her throat still in great pain.

He fell to his knees beside her bed and cupped her red and chapped cheek, his face full of his love.

"You remember," she said in wonder. "You remember me-our marriage."

He gathered her fingers in his wide palm and kissed them gently. "I remember everything," he promised.


	16. Chapter 16

Laura thought solving a murder would be like in her books. They would put on their trenchcoats and Fedora hats, and refusing all offers of gratitude, would stroll out of the room arm in arm, while the killer was dragged away in shackles.

The reality was being carried off the _Monterey_ on a stretcher and through a tunnel of exploding flashbulbs of the press cameras, while Bill and Jake tried to protect her. For a woman who never stepped out of her front door unless she looked just so, the experience was mortifying.

Sesha Doral was kept aboard the ship until the press assumed she'd been spirited away. She strolled down the gangplank like some perverse mourner behind the two shrouded bodies on their stretchers. Given a warning against leaving Hawaii by the befuddled police, she took a cab to the Royal Hawaiian Hotel and checked in.

Knowing their quarry was treed, the press circled the hospital and attempted various ingenious ways to try to sneak into Laura's room. Bill ended up sleeping in her bedside chair, twisted in an uncomfortable pretzel with Jake at his feet, waking with a painful crick in his neck and the aftertaste of Jello on his tongue from poaching off of Laura's dinner tray.

Meanwhile, Sesha breakfasted on the lanai of what was to have been the Adams' hotel suite. Her attorneys arrived on the next plane from San Francisco and accompanied her to her police interview.

Bill shaved with a dull razor and finally bathed and changed into a set of clothes from the hospital charity box, as all their clothing had been destroyed in the fire. Dressed in a sports shirt in a violent shade of orange with lime-green trim and a pair of faded clam diggers, he ducked down to the gift shop for a minute and picked up a penny mystery.

Once they'd shared Laura's breakfast, Bill attempted to save them from the tedium of the ward's blank walls by reading to her.

"I think I know who the murderer is," Laura determined, her voice still raspy from the smoke inhalation.

"Not the bumbling army Colonel, I hope," Bill teased, smiling over at her. "He might just turn out to be the hero of the piece."

A knock interrupted them.

They looked up, recognising the San Francisco Department detective, Giles Tyrol, sweaty and crumpled in his dark brown suit and limp trenchcoat.

"Detective?" Bill stood and politely shook hands with the policeman. "This is a surprise. I take it you're not on a vacation."

"No, Mr Adams. I'm here in relation to the murder of Joan Smith."

"Oh, yes," Laura whispered, "The Honolulu police said she was found in the Bay."

"Yes, she washed up into my jurisdiction," the detective said unhappily. "The DA wanted me to bring Sesha Doral back to San Francisco to face murder charges."

"But?" Laura asked shrewdly, reading his ambivalence.

Tyrol finally removed his sweat-stained hat and wiped his brow with his handkerchief. "I gotta be sure you'll be willing to testify against her."

Bill stepped in front of Tyrol. "You can tell that Richard Adar that my wife has gone through enough without having to get up on the witness stand for one of his show trials."

The detective looked around him to Laura, ignoring Bill's glare. "I'm not sure there even will be a trial if you don't."

"What? Why?" Bill sputtered.

"Without your testimony, the evidence is flimsy at best. Mrs Doral is claiming she had nothing to do with Joan Smith's murder. That her husband and Paulla Schaffer must have planned and carried out the entire thing without her knowledge."

"Will people believe this?" asked Laura.

Tyrol pulled out his battered notebook. "Your own statement, Mr Adams, is that Mrs Doral and the nurse were on the stairs behind you as you ran up them to see the man who had thrown the body off the upper deck."

Bill shook his head in frustration.

Tyrol flipped the page of his notebook. "The Dorals' butler has admitted to witnessing Mr Doral entering Miss Smith's room the day before the cruise. Doral then left the house, staying out all night."

Laura tugged Bill to sit beside her, hoping she'd calm him down.

The policeman turned the page to read through more notes. "None of the Dorals' staff claim to have actually seen the nurse after that. They were told she was released from her position by Mrs Doral and had left the house. We believe Sesha Doral, with or without Paulla Schaffer's help, drugged Joan Smith at the Atherton mansion, shoved her in a steamer trunk, brought her on board the _Monterey_ and then threw her overboard that first night of the cruise."

"There you go. You have the steamer trunk!" pointed out Bill, "I found her nurse's pin in it! That's evidence!"

"Yeah, we've got the steamer trunk with stains in the fabric lining indicating it held a body." Tyrol lifted his sad dog eyes to the Adams. "Unfortunately, the trunk was found in the maid's room, not Mrs Doral's."

"The drugs?" asked Laura, struggling to rise in the bed. Bill helped her, pushing pillows behind her back for support. "I suppose Sesha just will say she knows nothing about them; it was the nurse."

Fidgeting because he couldn't smoke, Tyrol began to pace, thinking aloud. "The ship's doctor gave sedatives to Paulla Schaffer. He's since discovered that a bottle of poison went missing around the same time the nurse visited his office. You're right, there's no link there between either substance and Mrs Doral. The right lawyer would point out that this is merely more evidence against Miss Schaffer."

"Why would Doctor Ishay give the nurse sedatives?" asked Bill, exasperated.

"The doctor believed they were going to be administered to Mr Doral-the nurse said he claimed that Mrs Doral was dead."

The Adams exchanged intrigued looks.

"Several ship stewards have given statements that Aaron Doral was in a most agitated state during the cruise," said Tyrol, checking his notes once more.

"It's just too convenient that he committed suicide," said Bill. "Surely no one could believe he wrote that ridiculous suicide note."

"Just eyeballing them myself, the suicide note and the letters found in Joan Smith's room were written by different people. We're waiting for a handwriting expert to determine if the prosecution can use this information for the trial. It's still not a lot for a jury to convict on. And again, a good lawyer could make this evidence either inadmissible or irrelevant." Discouraged, Tyrol sank into a chair, shaking his head.

Bill became even more riled up. "What about the little detail of Mrs Doral trying to kill my wife!"

"She's claiming that she was frightened by Paulla Schaffer, and that the nurse attacked you on her own-"

Laura's brow furrowed. She could have sworn Sesha had been part of the assault on her, but the whole time in Joan Smith's cabin was unclear, still fogged by the sedative.

Bill leapt up from the bed. "But what about her being able to walk? She was up to something; I know it!"

"She's claiming that she faked being crippled to avoid her husband's attention; that's all." Tyrol shrugged. "As long as it sounds logical to a jury-"

Laura leaned back against the pillows, her eyelids fluttering. Bill noticed her exhaustion. "Detective, you'll have to go-"

"No, Bill, we must help him." Laura mustered her strength. "Surely we have some evidence that can send Sesha away beyond my testimony."

Her took her hand. "Darling, she was once your close friend-"

Her eyes brightened with anger. "Yes, Bill, but you are my husband, and she tried to kill you. And for some reason, wanted me dead."

He stroked the hair off her forehead. "Rest, my dear. Just rest."

She glanced at Tyrol, catching his expression of yearning. "Is there anything else, Detective?"

He cleared his throat and stood. "A question about a situation back in Frisco."

"Oh?" Laura struggled to stay awake.

"One of my detectives, Peter Laird, was paid considerable sums of money from your checking account." He shuffled his feet uncomfortably. "I must ask, Mrs Adams. Have you hired him to do some moonlighting for you?"

"Peter Laird...Was he on the Ellen Tigh case?" asked Bill.

"Yes, sandy-haired man."

"He looked good in his evening dress at the ball," said Laura, smiling up at her husband. It changed to a frown. "But no, I had no reason to hire him. Ask Mr Zarek or my secretary. They'd know why he's being paid."

Defeated, Tyrol's shoulders slumped. "Thank you, Ma'am. I may be checking with you again before I leave Hawaii. If you think of anything else-"

"We'll let you know." Bill herded him toward the door.

Once the door shut behind the discouraged policeman, Bill returned to Laura. "Good, he's gone. You can get some rest."

She snared his wide hand and gave it a weak squeeze. " _You_ need some rest. Go to the hotel. Sleep in a real bed." Looking him up and down, she shuddered. "And find some new clothes."

He smiled down at her. "I could pick out clothes for you as well. My turn this time."

Laura laughed, then coughed at the effort. Bill apologized and poured her a glass of water.

After drinking deeply, Laura told him, "Go wild, darling. Just no grass skirts and coconut brassieres."

Happy that she could joke, he quickly kissed her and promised to return soon. Leaving Jake on guard, he left. Laura leaned back in her pillows, her face pensive. There must be a way to find out the truth.

~~AV~~

Sesha went to the balcony of her suite and looked out across Waikiki Beach, with its scattering of sunbathers' umbrellas and the white line of the curling surf. She had a perfect view of Diamond Head volcanic cone, glowing deep red under the bright sun.

"Paulla, you must come see this," she said.

No one appeared.

She sat at the table and pushed her hair back to catch the breeze. "I'd like some iced tea, Paulla," she said, then looked at the empty table with consternation.

She sighed. This was getting ridiculous. Where was that silly girl?

The doorbell rang; it must be her lawyers, coming for another interview.

"Paulla, get the door," she said sharply as the bell rang and rang.

Exasperated, she hopped up. "Fine, I'll get it-" She fell to the polished marble floor, her legs suddenly numb.

"Paulla!" she called weakly. "Paulla!"

~~AV~~

Returning to the hospital after his extensive shopping trip-he'd chosen more than a few glad rags-Bill lingered outside the hospital door, furtively searching amongst the coconut palms and hibiscus bushes of the grounds before he entered.

He pulled out a cigarette and lit it. He was carefully not indulging in the habit around Laura while she was ill, but he needed to calm himself for the possibility of facing the press. He felt like he needed to get used to their intrusiveness all over again.

"Looking for someone, Mr Adams?" came a voice behind him.

He spun around. Layne Ishay stood behind him.

"Photographers," he spat out.

She nodded understandingly. "How are you, Mr Adams? No more issues with your memory?"

"Yes, but Laura's the one in the hospital ward now," he reminded her.

"I do hear Mrs Adams is doing well and will be released soon."

He eyed the prim appearance; her formal white doctor's coat and hair pinned up in a neat bun. "You're working here?"

"The doctors here are consulting me in the Sesha Doral case."

"What! Is that her latest ploy?" he barked, sick to his stomach at the thought of Sesha Doral being free to come after Laura again. "She's now going to plead insanity?"

"Oh, no, Mr Adams, I don't have any insider knowledge on how Mrs Doral's lawyers will be handling her defense. No, I'm here because she has lost the ability to walk."

Bill squinted through the haze of his cigarette smoke. "What do you mean?"

"She's once again confined to her wheelchair."

"She's obviously a master manipulator," he said scornfully. "She's faking it."

"No, I don't believe so. I believe she still has the physical ability to walk. But the hysterical paralysis that I had hypothesized about has manifested itself now that Miss Schaffer is dead," the doctor said with grim satisfaction.

"That bitch doesn't care for anyone," he spit out. "Her old friend, her husband, her nurse...No one but herself."

"She feels a deep guilt, Mr Adams." Layne cocked her head. "You must understand that feeling."

Grubbing out the cigarette under his heel, Bill shook his head. "I don't do guilt."

"That's why you've kept the death of your first wife such a secret? Or have you now told your current wife all the details?"

His mouth became a firm line. "We're doin' just fine. No need to go rocking the boat with stories about the past. Laura and I are all about the future." He nodded curtly at her. "Thanks for everything, doc, but I gotta go." He stalked away.

Layne watched him pensively. "But the past has a habit of coming up to get us," she murmured.

~~AV~~

While putting away his purchases in the hospital room's narrow wardrobe, Bill told Laura all about his day's activities, but then broke the bad news to her. "I've got to pop out again, darling. Don't move," he said lovingly. "Just a few more details to finalize for our escape from those newspaper hounds."

Pushing back her hair, she forced a smile. He was a dear, truly. "I'm be right here when you return," she said, unable to keep the bitterness from her voice.

Sharp in his new linen suit, Bill tugged on his Panama hat and with one more kiss, left.

Laura sighed and rolled over in her bed. She was bored silly and Bill wasn't helping at all. He read to her for hours on end, but she was in Hawaii dammit! The palm trees were swaying outside her window, and when he allowed the window to be opened, she could smell the sea and tropical blossoms.

The good news was, he was going to finalize the rental of a private home and a car. He would finally be taking her away from the hospital and the lingering pressmen. While visiting old Naval buddies at Pearl Harbor, he'd made the acquaintance of some large stevedores on the docks, and had hired them to act as bodyguards.

Everything would seem to be in place for their honeymoon to resume, everything but a properly amorous attitude from her husband. He was treating her as if she were made of glass, even though the doctor had cleared her to take walks in the gardens, and was willing to release her today.

No, Bill insisted that she stay in bed or a wheelchair, his eyes wetting with tears as he kept mentioning he'd nearly lost her. Laura remembered how she'd felt very much the same after he was shot, but she still wanted to scream with frustration and boredom.

There was a knock at the door.

"Come in," she said drearily, watching the lovely clouds dance across the blue sky outside her window.

"Mrs Adams, am I intruding?" asked Detective Tyrol, holding his hat in his hands.

"Not at all," she said, scrambling upright in bed. "I didn't realize you were still in Hawaii."

"Yeah." The big man sat by her bed. "I've been goin' over that boat with a fine tooth comb, trying to find somethin..."

"Vessel."

"Sorry?"

Laura straightened her bedding. "I'm sorry, but Bill's trying to teach me proper nautical terminology."

The detective turned his sad eyes to her, and Laura felt badly. "You were saying?" she prompted.

"I'm heading back to Frisco today, ma'am. We can't find any more evidence. We're interviewed the passengers, the crew-"

Laura tapped her chin. "Did anyone say they saw Sesha walking before she was discovered by us?"

"Nope." He noticed her speculative expression. "What are you thinking?"

"Why go to the trouble to frame Aaron for the nurse's murder then fake his suicide? Why not simply allow him to go to jail or kill him?"

Tyrol blinked at the hard tone from the lovely woman before him. He had to remind himself that she was a businesswoman and hadn't bothered to marry until she found that roughneck old sailor on the docks. She was hardly going to be a shrinking violet.

"They were framing him for Joan's murder?" he suggested.

"And then turned right around and killed him!"

He nodded. "Why not just divorce him?"

Laura's gaze became far away. "Wealthy people are a different animal, Mr Tyrol."

He glanced around the private room with every surface covered with expensive flower arrangements, boxes of sweets, and stacks of books.

"You'd be surprised. They won't part with a penny that's not being spent on their own pleasure."

"I guess that's why they have more money than the likes of me," he said artlessly and was rewarded with a lovely smile.

"Exactly, Detective." She leaned back on her pillow. "I'm constantly trying to pry a few dollars out of the most wealthy of society for my charities-"

They both thought of Sharon, who'd been one of her lost causes.

She slapped the bed. "Mr Tyrol, would you take me out of this stuffy little room? I think better in fresh air."

"Of course, Mrs Adams." He jumped up and fetched a wheelchair while she pulled on a satin robe over her hospital gown.

She swept right past it. "We're walking," she informed him.

He slowly led her through the lush gardens. Laura glanced up at the tall detective. "I regret, Mr Tyrol, that my husband will probably demand that I do not testify in Sesha's trial."

"You don't seem like the sort of lady who gives in her husband's demands," Tyrol dared to say.

"It depends on two things, Detective; the demand and the husband." Laura's eyes flashed.

Tyrol looked down at her strong profile, set and determined. He didn't know if he could handle this sort of wilful woman, accustomed to getting her own way, yet a pretty powerful man in Bill Adams appeared comfortable with the situation, even treating her as though she needed his protection.

"That it does," he finally said. "Your husband seems like the sorta fella who doesn't make a lot of demands." His uncomfortable chuckle died in his throat as her expression softened and turned to something else...Secretive and satisfied. This was a woman who got what she wanted, but unlike many women, must know what she wanted.

Suddenly, her features sharpened. He followed her gaze. Sesha Doral was on the other side of the lawn, slumped in her wheelchair with a nurse sitting nearby, knitting, while a pair of policemen stood a few yards away, eyes watchful under their hats.

"Let me take you back inside, Mrs Adams-"

"I'd like to speak with Sesha."

"I really don't think that's a good idea," Tyrol said uncomfortably.

"I think it's a perfect idea. She hasn't told you the truth; perhaps she'll tell me what happened."

"Mrs Adams-"

Ignoring his protests, Laura strolled toward her old friend. Unsure what to do, Tyrol lit a cigarette and pushed his hat back on his head.

"Sesha, may I speak to you?" Laura asked.

Sesha didn't look up, nor did she refuse.

Wincing at the effort, Laura pulled a chair over to sit beside her.

"Ce-ce," Laura said, calling Sesha the nickname she hadn't used in years, "How are you?"

Sesha still didn't speak.

"They want me to testify at your trial." Laura nodded toward Tyrol. "My husband doesn't want me to."

The other woman's eyes darted toward her.

"But I want to," Laura said smoothly. "I won't just walk away from someone trying to kill my husband-"

"I didn't-"

"But your friend did on your orders. It's a distinction with little difference," Laura said briskly. "So tell me why I shouldn't testify."

Sesha remained silent.

"The detective has told me what your lawyers will say." Laura shifted closer. "That Paulla Schaffer was in cahoots with your husband and they killed Joan, tried to kill Bill, that she tried to kill me."

"Yes."

"But I think it was you, Sesha. I've known you a very long time." Laura gave a low laugh at admitting their ages. "You were always a leader, always had the crazy schemes. Only now, it was to a deadly end. And I remember how much you hated to lose."

Sesha's lips twisted in an unholy smile, but her gaze remained at the tips of her slippers.

"You didn't want Aaron to win, or even a silly little nurse he was sleeping with, right?"

Still no reaction from Sesha.

"So you chose a new nurse to use as your tool, but something was different this time." Laura's face flushed. "I think you developed feelings for Paulla."

Sesha began to shake her head violently. "No, no..." she muttered.

Laura grew impatient with her. "Ce-ce, I could see-I know what it means to find yourself in love with someone you didn't expect to feel that way about-"

Furious, Sesha turned to Laura. "Don't you dare say it!"

Laura wasn't going to back down. "Something made you get back in this chair, Sesha. Let's call it love. And love means sacrifice, Ce-ce. You can honor her memory by taking responsibility for what you've done."

For the briefest moment, Laura saw Sesha's face soften, yearning in her eyes. Then the haughty mask slipped back in place. "Paulla knew her place."

"Laura, what the hell are you doing out here!"

Both women looked up, shocked.

Bill stood over them, glowering.

Sesha leaned back in her wheelchair. "Goodbye, Laura. It's been lovely to catch up," she said with her best society matron voice.

Bill gently pulled Laura up from her chair. "Come along, dear," he said, ignoring the other woman.

Detective Tyrol tried to intercept them as they came back across the lawn. "Mr Adams, I'm sorry, but Mrs Adams said-"

Bill cut him off with a glare.

"I take it that Mrs Doral didn't have anything more to say?" Tyrol said weakly.

"I think she might have, dammit." Laura shot Bill an irritated look.

Bill gave her his most stoic stare right back. "We're going. I've checked you out of the hospital."

So happy to be leaving, Laura instantly forgot her fury and threw her arms around his neck. "Oh darling, that's wonderful!"

"I'll be going then," said Tyrol.

"You do that, Detective," growled Bill, holding Laura close.

"I'll see you back in San Francisco," said Tyrol, but the Adams were walking away, arm in arm.

Back in her hospital room, Laura hovered beside Bill as he lay her new dresses across the bed, ready to pack into the new suitcase.

"Darling, I don't suppose you bought me any driving gloves?" Laura asked, sorting through the new undergarments he'd acquired.

"No."

"Oh well, I can go without for a few days." She selected a pretty frock with red flowers scattered across a white cotton. He'd even found white pumps with little red bows.

She squealed with excitement, but then Bill cut through her revelry: "You won't be driving," he stated firmly.

The dress draped over her arm and the shoes in her hand, she nudged him with her hip as she went past on the way to the washroom. "Of course I will, silly! Unless you took lessons while I was stuck in this ward!"

Bill's brow furrowed. "No, I didn't," but she'd breezed through the door and didn't hear him.

He finished packing and she thanked him when she returned, fully dressed. "One suitcase!" she exclaimed. "Who would have thought Laura Roslin would ever only have suitcase while on vacation?"

He hefted the suitcase, ready to leave. "We'll go shopping for more when you're completely well."

"Swaying palms, a handsome husband, and shopping. What more could a woman ask for?" Laura slipped her arm in Bill's and snapped her fingers for Jake to join them. "The rest of our honeymoon is going to be just perfect."


	17. Chapter 17

Bill had arranged for their car to meet them inside the hospital gates. He had hoped that by now the press would have lost interest in Laura's condition and moved onto a new story, but a couple of newsmen were still prowling around.

"This is nice, darling," she purred, running her hand along the car's elongated hood. "A Lincoln. I expected something much less pretentious from you."

Bill grunted. There hadn't been many choices to hire, and he had vehemently resisted anything with an open top. He wouldn't want Laura to get too much sun, or catch a chill. He had also had to take into consideration their new driver's physique.

Laura strode around to the driver's side. "Let's see if this girl can outrun those reporters, shall we?"

The driver's door opened, and one of the strapping lads Bill had found at the dock jumped out with remarkable grace considering his size.

"Oh!" Laura cried, twisting her head back as far as it could go to look up at the tall, wide-shouldered Hawaiian.

He grinned down at her broadly, his bright teeth flashing from his dark face. He was dressed rather unconventionally, with a proper chauffeur's cap on his long, curly hair, and a black jacket over a straining white shirt, but he wore a colorfully patterned sarong on his lower body and sandals on his feet.

"Teddy will be driving, dearest," Bill drawled, firmly catching her arm before she could protest and bundling her into the back seat.

"Bill," she stuttered eventually as she righted herself on the wide backseat. "I'm quite capable of driving."

Jake hopped over her and laid his head on the front seat, looking expectantly out the windshield. He was ready to go.

"I'm sure you are," said Bill crisply as he slid in beside her. "But we're going to relax and recuperate."

Laura crossed her arms and pouted out at the view from her window. She wasn't here to recuperate! She was here for her honeymoon!

Teddy slowly and steadily pulled the car out of the hospital grounds and onto the main road. She noticed two men leaning on their cars sharing a cigarette glance tiredly in the Lincoln's direction. Their bored expressions immediately brightened as they registered her as a passenger.

"Press, darling," she commented casually as the men threw their stubs onto the ground and fumbled for their cameras.

Bill didn't react.

She leaned forward. "Teddy, perhaps you could speed it up a touch."

"This is Hawai'i, ma'am," he replied, continuing on at his snail's pace. "No hurries; no worries."

Laura raised her eyebrow in Bill's direction.

"I can see why you hired Teddy," she murmured.

Bill's expression remained passive.

She turned in her seat and looked out the back window. The cars were still parked in the same spot. One reporter was slamming his hands down on the car's steering wheel, while the other was leaning under his popped hood.

"Teddy has many talents," Bill told her, smug.

"Hmph."

She would have much preferred the thrill of outrunning those cars. She was out of that hospital now, and she simply wanted to enjoy being alive.

She glanced back over at Bill. She wanted him to enjoy life too. After their horror journey, they both deserved it.

She shuffled closer and palmed his thigh, smiling as she felt his muscles bunch beneath her touch.

"Bill..."

"Mmm?" He straightened his tie.

She propped her chin on his shoulder and murmured in his ear as her hand continued its caresses. "You do see the problem with insisting I don't drive? It leaves my hands free to do other things."

His cheek twitched, but his eyes remained firmly ahead. "Other things?"

"Yes." She nipped his earlobe.

"Dear, the driver," he muttered.

"Remember, you hired a very conscientious driver," she pointed out. "His eyes are on the road, and the road only." Her hand moved a bit higher, and he started to breathe more quickly.

"Laura," he said, trying to sound firm, even as he opened his legs wider. "You've been ill-"

"The doctor gave me a full clearance." She lifted his hand and slid it under her skirt.

"I think I'll know when you're ready-"

"Oh, trust me, Bill. I'm ready." She crossed her legs, trapping his hand between her thighs.

His face flushed, Bill spotted their rental house's gates ahead. "We're here!" he announced, grateful.

Seeing that two guards were on the gate as Teddy slowed the car to a crawl, Laura moved her hand up to Bill's chest. He managed to pry his hand free from her legs.

More to himself, he mused, "We'll get you inside the house, cool you off-"

"But I'm pleasantly warm," she assured him.

"You can lie down and get some rest."

"A nap?" she said, incredulous.

He gave her a quick peck on the cheek. "Yes, dear. A nice long nap after this drive. I'm sure you're exhausted."

"Only if you lie down with me," Laura said, her voice suddenly weak as she leaned heavily on his shoulder.

Satisfied that he'd read her condition properly, Bill wrapped his arm around her. "I'll take good care of you."

Watching the car ease through the wrought iron gates, Bill missed her sly expression.

Their temporary staff were lined up under the shade of the large house's sprawling veranda when they emerged from the Lincoln. Built of dark, tropical wood, the former whaling captain's home, with its deep porches, elaborately carved gingerbread trim and louvered windows, entranced Laura, almost diverting her from her mission.

Jake jumped from the car and started sniffing around excitedly. He'd been cooped up for too long and was taking it nearly as badly as Laura.

Teddy's mother had been installed as housekeeper, and his sister as cook. Laura climbed the stairs and greeted them warmly, telling them both how eager she was to taste their local fare.

"Aloha," said the mother, handing Laura a thick, fragrant lei of pink blossoms to place around her neck. Her daughter bowed and held up a strand of yellow blooms and deep green ferns for Bill, smiling shyly.

Laura choked back tears. They had missed this traditional greeting when they'd disembarked from the _Monterey_ in such an unceremonious fashion.

Next, she was introduced to the other young man who Bill had hired as a bodyguard, who was, if possible, larger than Teddy. A elderly Japanese gardener and round-faced Filipino houseboy rounded out their small household staff.

"I'll be getting Mrs Adams straight to the bedroom," Bill effectively dismissed them, solicitously holding Laura's arm. "She will still need a lot of rest for the next few weeks," he added. They all murmured sympathetically and Laura remembered to droop against Bill.

But she took a moment to turn back and look at the uninterrupted view of the deep azure water and sickle of white sand of their private cove.

"Come, darling," murmured Bill. "You need to go to bed. We can visit the beach in a few days."

"Yes, dear." She managed to make her voice sound wan.

"I will take the dog for a walk," the houseboy Juan announced, obviously excited by this new duty. Laura smiled in thanks over her shoulder.

The house's rooms all opened off the deep veranda. Bill ushered her along the cool space. She craned her neck to check out the rooms filled with comfortable, white cotton-covered furnishings on dark teak floors. Low glass vases filled with pink and yellow frangipanis were used as splashes of color throughout.

Ignoring Bill's fussing, she broke from his hold to glide to the nearest vase, and breathed in the flowers' heady scent.

Undeterred, he snagged her arm again. "Here we go," he said, leading her into a large, cool bedroom. She kicked off her shoes and spun around, completely exhilarated from the tropical, airy feel of the beachside house-so different from their mansion in San Francisco. This truly was a retreat from their lives.

He placed her suitcase by the door and tied back the mosquito netting draped around the brass frame of a large canopy bed. "Come on, Laura. I want you to lie down," he ordered, pulling the covers down.

"Gosh, yes, put me to bed, Bill," she agreed readily, wiggling out of her dress and sliding onto the cool crisp sheets. "I can't believe what a lovely house you found us. Thank you, darling," she said sincerely, reaching up to squeeze his hand.

"It's not too plain?" Bill asked. He had been unsure the simple decor was going to fully please his wife. Even though her new decorating choices in their San Francisco house had proved to fit in with his tastes, he still was anxious to make the resumption of their honeymoon as perfect as possible.

"No, not at all, darling." She squirmed on the bed. "This is very comfortable. Are you going to stay with me until I fall asleep?" she asked, looking up at him beseechingly.

Not able to refuse her anything when he had come so close to losing her, he took off his shoes and threw his jacket over a white wicker chair.

When he turned back, Laura had removed her slip and was now lying on the white sheets of the bed in only her new brassiere and underpants. He'd chosen plain white ones instead of some garish color, and he immediately felt his groin tighten at the sight. He found it remarkable that a woman with such pale skin could look so good with the stark color surrounding her.

He took a moment to hang up her dress in the closet, composing himself. He would need to repeat to himself over and over that she had just been released from hospital. Even though she never wanted to admit her weaknesses, she was tired. She needed rest. He had to remember that they would resume their normal bedroom activities soon enough. He just needed to be patient.

"Bill...Would you help me with this clip?"

He turned. Laura was lying on her stomach, looking over her shoulder.

"I can't quite get the hang of it yet." Laura ineffectually flapped her hand at the bra's clasp. She knew he would never ignore any request for assistance. She adored how easily she could take advantage of Bill's gentleman-like instincts.

Bill took a deep fortifying breath. Her words were innocent enough, but her tone was deep and memories of times she had used it when whispering her needs in his ear in the middle of the night flooded him.

He knelt down on the bed behind her and carefully undid the brassiere's fastening. He couldn't help but run his fingers across the soft skin of her back while he was there.

"Thank you," she said with a sigh, lifting and wriggling completely out of the garment before relaxing back down on the mattress, her head cradled in her folded arms.

"You want me to help you off with this?" he asked, fingering the garland of flowers at her neck.

"No. It smells delicious."

He bent his head and nuzzled beneath her hair, breathing in deeply. She was right, delicious, although he thought it was her and not the flowers.

"Could you give my shoulders a rub,darling? Please?"

Shuffling up the bed higher until he straddled her hips, he pushed the lei aside and began to gently massage her neck and shoulders.

Laura smothered her smile against her arm. Bill's big hands smoothed slow circles down her back, working their way to the waistband of her panties and up again. When they fanned out and stroked down her sides, she temporarily forgot her seduction plans and let out a contented hum.

"How's that?" he asked, the husky register of his voice alone was enough to cause an ache between her thighs.

"Good," she managed to rasp out.

His hands suddenly stilled.

"Do you need a drink of water? Your throat-"

"I'm fine. Please," she groaned out the word, "don't stop."

After a moment's hesitation, Bill thankfully returned to his task. This time his thumbs pressed against her spine, kneading slowly down, all the way to her tailbone. She knew it was time to up the ante when she felt Bill's knuckles brush across her buttocks. He was made of stern stuff, but he was weakening.

Rolling over, she stretched her arms up above her head slowly. Concentrating on keeping up her act, she ensured she altered her grin to a yawn. Her breasts rose, the lei rolling across her chest distractingly.

Her nipples pebbled when she saw Bill's intense gaze was indeed focused on the part of her body she'd been intending to highlight with this action. He was so good at...

Bill couldn't control himself. He suddenly latched onto one of Laura's nipples, his tongue lapping against its hardened nub. He softly squeezed the pale flesh of her breast as he tugged the nipple deep, deeper, into his mouth. She began to make that noise in the back of her throat, something between a whimper and a hum, that always made him lightheaded.

Reluctantly he let go, but only managed to move to her opposite breast, lavishing it with attention also. The sweet smell of flowers filled his senses, mingling with scent of her skin.

He was momentarily diverted from his assault when he realized that his shirt was hanging loose and open. He didn't know how and when it had been unbuttoned. But he knew Laura had something to do with it when he felt her squeezing his chest muscles.

He rocked back on his haunches, trying to catch his breath.

"You're supposed to be going to sleep," he admonished.

"I will," she agreed, too readily. "After we make love," she added, her finger reaching out and tracing his scar.

His mind told him he should protest, but his body had other ideas. He was already uncomfortably aroused, pressing against his pants' fly. Laura was staring with rapt attention. Perhaps they could take it slow...

Still sitting back, ready to escape if he was forced to, he slipped a hand beneath her panties, wanting to check just how ready she really was. Her bravado might be just that.

He recognized that he'd made a fatal error in judgement immediately. How could he even think of stopping after touching her so intimately? Especially when she reacted so eagerly, moaning and arching up off the mattress to press against his hand.

He was still telling himself she could be too fragile to take too much when her hands undid his belt buckle and pushed down his trousers. Immediately, her hands were stroking his hardening length through the material of his underpants.

He suddenly chuckled.

Laura raised an eyebrow. "What's so funny?"

He hooked his thumbs onto the waistband of her panties and dragged them down, ensuring he managed to glide his hands along her long legs in the process. "I was just reminded of our first time, and showing you how to touch me."

She hummed happily, eyeing him almost intently as he struggled to remove the remainder of his clothing.

"Leave it," she ordered emphatically when he made to take off his lei.

"You want me naked except for a floral arrangement?" he drawled.

Laura laughed merrily. She had to admit he did look quite silly, but as he'd bent over her breasts, it had tickled, scratched and stimulated her skin further. And it also symbolized love, and she knew that she loved Bill so much...

"Yes I do," she said, certain.

His hands were making circles on her thighs, just like they had on her back.

"Would it be more comfortable if you were on top, darling?" He pressed down on her clitoris with the heel of his hand.

She caught her breath and clutched the lei hanging askew around his neck. She gave it a yank and he follow it until their lips were almost touching.

"This is just fine," she murmured, tugging the flowers that extra inch to kiss him passionately.

Their lips and tongues played together happily for a long time until her need became too great. She dug her nails into his buttocks, urging him to let his weight settle over her. She loved the feeling of his bulk heavy upon her.

"Something else reminded me of that first time," he said, spreading her legs and positioning himself between them.

"Mmm?"

"You seduced me," he accused, giving her a mock glare. "You were always planning on making love this afternoon, weren't you? You were never sleepy."

She giggled. "Yes, and no, darling. I definitely planned this all along, and no, I was never sleepy."

"Hmph," he grumbled.

His indignant grunt was perfectly synchronized with him entering her and she gasped in reaction, widening her legs even further to accommodate him.

But now that he was joined with her, it seemed he was content just to lay quietly, except for the occasional kiss or light touch.

"I'm just happy you can now remember our first time," she whispered, stroking her nails lightly down his back.

"I can't believe how close I came to losing you." His kisses became more fervent, covering her face. "I don't want to even think about your lovely skin being burnt."

"Now you know how I felt," she replied, reaching between their bodies to touch his scar.

They both fell silent, except for her occasional soft cry of pleasure as he began to gently rock inside of her. She moved with him, so slowly that she wondered if the world had stopped. If it had, this was a perfect moment for it, she thought.

Then, the only thing she could think about was how good it felt. She would never get tired of this feeling that only Bill could create deep within her.

His face buried in the crook of her neck, Bill allowed his tears to flow. It was joy, it was his fear, it was his near loss-it had felt so real for too many terrifying moments. Yes, he'd cried when Carolanne died, but it had not felt like this.

She crooned comfort in his ear, not understanding what he was feeling, but wanting to share it.

He smiled down at her through his tears. "This was a great idea, darling." He kissed away the tears that were sparkling on her cheeks.

Her fingers twined through his lei. "I always have great ideas," she boasted, but then her mocking expression melted away as she arched off the mattress, and it was his turn to comfort her as his lei broke in her fist, the petals raining down as he followed her, not with one of his bellows of triumph, but both of them voicing their culmination with a series of quiet sighs. He sank to the mattress, rolling Laura on her side, not wanting to leave her quite yet, his nose buried in her curls and the pink blooms.

They lay, still joined, still silent, for a long time afterwards.

Eventually Bill rose and fetched a cloth from the bathroom that adjoined their bedroom. He returned and gently wiped her clean. He also finally removed her lei and the tattered strand of ferns from his neck, and took them to the doorway.

"Where're you going?" Laura asked sleepily.

"Gotta return these to the earth so our love remains," he said looking both ways up and down the veranda. "You can't just throw a lei away."

"Silly, someone will see you."

"Not if I'm fast." Bill darted across the deck, huffing from the effort on his sex-weakened legs. Quickly, he tossed them under the closest hibiscus bush and made it back to the bed unseen.

Laura pulled him into her embrace, wrapping her legs around him to keep him close, laughing at his foolishness. "How did you know that?" she asked affectionately.

"I've been to the islands."

"Some pretty Polynesian girl told you?" she said archly.

He just grinned. "The past is the past," he said mysteriously.

She frowned for a moment, then her face smoothed. She kissed the end of his nose. "I love you, Mr Adams."

He nestled in between her breasts. "I love you, Mrs Adams."

~~AV~~

Old Jaffee showed Giles Tyrol into Laura's office and announced him to the Roslin Industries business manager. Tom Zarek rose from behind his desk, offering his hand. "You've brought word from our honeymooners?" he asked jovially.

"They haven't answered any of my wires since I returned a week ago," Tyrol said unhappily.

Tom chuckled. "Mr and Mrs Adams aren't to return for another two weeks, but I wouldn't be surprised if they remain longer." His smile was oily. "Mr Adams enjoys spending Mrs Adams' money."

The detective was surprised to hear that. Bill Adams had always come across as a straight Joe, but all that dough would be hard to ignore. Tossing his hat on an empty desk, he looked around. "Is the secretary here?"

Zarek affected a concerned look. "I believe she's away, again, offering comfort to one of your own, Detective."

"I see." Tyrol's hound dog expression became sadder. "Maybe you can help me with a question." He pulled a folded check from his pocket. "Can you tell me anything about this payment?"

Tom quickly scanned it. "Made out to cash. That's unusual, particularly for that large of amount."

He found Laura's executive checkbook and opened it the right page of checks. "No note on the stub," he said, flipping up the short end. "But Mrs Adams signed it herself, not Mr Adams." A mean smirk flitted across his lips briefly.

"It was written the day the Adamses left on their cruise. Are you sure that's Mrs Adams' signature?"

Tom looked at the check closely and nodded. He thought for a moment. "It's the last check...I remember now. We were going over last minute business details-it's a great inconvenience for Mrs Adams to be away, you see." His smile to the detective was now pained.

He continued to remember. "Emily brought in the checkbook and asked Mrs Adams to sign a check." He looked at the check again. "That's her handwriting requesting 'cash'."

"Mrs Adams didn't ask anything about the check?"

"Not at all. She trusts Emily implicitly."

Tyrol took back the check and slipped it in his pocket. "Any reason she shouldn't?"

Lifting his shoulders in a shrug, Tom shifted his eyes, acting as though what he was about to say pained him. "She's been behaving so secretive lately...Not herself."

"I see. Well, thank you, Mr Zarek." Tyrol snatched up his hat.

"Any time, Detective, any time."

After showing Tyrol out, Zarek hurried back to his phone. "Yes, Meier? It's me. Listen, get those bolt cutters you used on the Laird car. I have just the place to hide them."

This time, his smile was wide and sincere.

~~AV~~

Floating on her back in the small bay before their house, Laura blinked up into the sun.

Bill paddled beside her. "Just a few more minutes, and then you must get out of the sun," he fussed.

She hummed in the back of her throat. He watched her skin carefully, only allowing her to be in the sun for short stretches at a time. He'd set up a cabana on the beach with sheer curtains so that she may enjoy the warm breezes off the ocean, but was sheltered from the strong rays.

Still, her skin had turned a light golden color, her freckles standing out, even across her nose, much to his delight. His new game was connect the dots with kisses all over her body.

Lolling her head, she smiled at him. Bill, on the other hand, was as dark as a native Hawaiian by now. He hadn't had his weekly haircut since they'd arrived in Hawaii, and his longer hair curled wildly from all the water and wind. Watching him stride across the white sand, his bronzed limbs strong and muscular, his hair stirred by the breeze, his snug white trunks standing out in stark relief, Laura would be stimulated before he even touched her.

His finger stroked down her swimsuit's strap.

"Bill..."

"There's no one out here." His lips captured her bobbing bare breast.

This was true. Their few servants melted away whenever the Adams wandered into a room. Normally, Laura would try to ingratiate herself with them more, but not on their honeymoon. She just wanted to concentrate on her husband.

She clung to his shoulders, turning in the water to enter his embrace. Between nibbles and strokes on her chest, Bill turned a critical eye to her pinkening shoulders.

"Better get you in," he said definitely.

"I feel like a roasting chicken you're watching," she chided.

"Don't want crispy skin on you for sure," he said as he put her swimsuit back up.

She swam away from him confidently, and he grinned, his teeth flashing white on his dark face.

She wasn't afraid of the water anymore. Between the salt water buoyancy and Bill's patient lessons, she'd become a decent swimmer, even body surfing with him.

He came up beside her, and watching over his shoulder, said, "A nice one's coming in."

She readied herself, and felt his arm slip around her waist. They rose on the swell of water and kicked their legs to catch the wave. Exhilarated, Laura felt safe in his hold as they rode the wave closer and closer to shore. Before she could be pulled under, Bill stood, bringing her up with him.

Tugging off her swim cap, she wrapped her arms around his neck as her hair cascaded down to her shoulders. "My lifesaver," she said breathlessly.

He was sweeping her swimsuit down again, his seeking lips moving from one breast to the other that he cradled in his large palms.

Glancing up at the large house nestled in the palm grove, Laura didn't see anyone watching, but she still felt exposed. Covering her chest with her arm, she led him to their shielded large lounge under the cabana.

"Silly," she scolded, but as soon as they were inside, she reached for his trunks.

He wiggled out of them before his arousal made that impossible. "Need to check you for burn," he rumbled, sliding her own swimsuit off. "Lie down," he ordered, helping her to recline on the lounge.

But his inspection was with his mouth and hands, not by sight. Her equilibrium still unsettled by being in the water, Laura bobbed along, breathing deeply, taking in the scent of tropical blossoms, salt, and her own desire.

He followed that scent, his impossibly soft lips for such a strong mouth, worked down her belly and thighs, to nudge her legs open wordlessly. She let them fall open, her head dropping off the side. It wasn't shame that made her do this every time; it was the wonder of it all, that he was going to make her feel this way, again.

He knelt in the sand and draped her legs over his shoulders. Her fingers curled through his thick hair, coarsening from the salt and wind. She guided his mouth, urging him to do that harder, there, yes, right there. His hand joined in and she tensed for a moment before listening to the waves' calming rhythm-this was her breathing, the motion of his fingers inside her.

Now the tension was in her lower belly, hardening and getting ready to crackle through her limbs. Her hips rose off the cushion to grind unashamedly on his face. Even though she didn't need to, she still urged him on. "Bill-there...I want-"

His tongue, which had been just giving her clitoris the lightest of flicks, encircled the swollen nub, and he sucked it in.

Gripping the lounge's arms, she clung on for dear life. This time the wave was going to carry her too high-pulling her under, tossing her over and over...

Gasping for air, she lay back, her limbs completely boneless. Chuckling, Bill rose, cradling his erection tightly-he'd been holding himself back. She managed to find the energy to grasp her thighs and hold them open in an unspoken invitation.

"God, Laura," he rasped, and was atop her in a smooth motion, just as he surfed down the wave's curl. He was too aroused; he only managed a few thrusts before he was growling her name and his love into her neck. She clutched his hair with one hand, and held his hips tightly to hers with the other, demanding he leave his mark deep inside.

While their breathing returned to normal, they lay tangled together, watching the sheer curtains flutter. Finally, Bill reached for the plate of fruit that Juan had brought down earlier.

"You can eat?" she challenged him sleepily.

"You make me hungry." He took a great bite of pineapple and the juice ran down his chin to land on her breast.

"Sorry," he said, not sounding the least bit apologetic. Naturally, he had to lick it off, sweet and sea salty. "You're delicious," he said approvingly.

She lightly bit his shoulder. "You are too."

"I could eat a whole bushel of fruit off your body."

"Maybe we should buy a pineapple plantation," she suggested.

He raised himself on his elbow. His face turned serious. "I'd like that, Laura. Get away from all the silliness of being Laura Roslin, San Francisco socialite."

"You're not Laura Roslin."

"I'm Mr Laura Roslin," he pointed out.

"Bill-" She lay a hand over his scarred chest.

He stared out across the ocean. "There's cattle ranches on these islands. I've got some knowledge of ranching." He grinned down at her. "How'd you like to have your own cowboy?"

"Where ever you want to be, whatever you want to do, I'll be there," she promised.

He lay back down and pulled her close. "Let's just stay here for now, for as long as we can. Nothing can pull us back to that life yet."

~~AV~~

Emily hurried into the Roslin mansion, tossing her hat and coat on a chair beside her desk. "I'm so sorry I'm late, Mr Zarek," she called over to Tom at his desk. "But Patty simply didn't want to leave for school."

"Children can be such a trial," Zarek said, rolling his eyes behind her back.

Emily had just taken off her typewriter's cover when Old Jaffee appeared in the doorway. "Detective Tyrol is here," he announced.

"Well show him right in," said Tom, rising. "Perhaps he has more questions."

Confused, Emily looked at the business manager. "He's had questions? But the Adams aren't here."

Tom smiled at her. "It wasn't about the murders."

Tyrol and a heavy-set uniformed policeman with droopy jowls appeared in the doorway.

"They have a search warrant," Jaffee said with a doomsday voice.

"Search warrant?" Emily was even more confused. She stood.

Tyrol didn't look at her. He offered the warrant to Zarek. "Yes, ma'am. We're going to search this office. We've already searched your apartment."

"My apartment!" she cried. "Whatever do you mean?"

"Please step back from your desk, Mrs Kowalski," the uniformed policeman said. Her legs shaking, she complied. Grunting, he bent over to begin going through the desk's drawers.

"Detective, what's this about?" Tom asked in a manly voice.

"Nothin', hopefully," Tyrol said, unhappy.

But then Figurski pulled out a large, heavy pair of nippers and laid them on the desktop.

"What on earth are those?" asked Emily, her voice quavering. "How did they get in there?"

Tyrol stepped toward her and took a deep breath. "Emily Kowalski, you are under arrest for for the murder of Marie Laird."

~~THE END~~

THANKS FOR ALL THE COMMENTS, GUYS!


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